


Coney Island

by writingisbliss



Category: Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Families of Choice, Musical References, Sex, Swearing, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-02
Updated: 2017-11-07
Packaged: 2019-01-28 05:33:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 33,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12599300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingisbliss/pseuds/writingisbliss
Summary: Christine comes to New York and look who's been waiting ten years to see her again.





	1. Chapter 1 The Monster on Coney

**Author's Note:**

> Remember when I said I was going off to write original works and stuff. Yahhhhh I did that for ten days and then BOOM Love Never Dies invaded my head space. 
> 
> Now I've seen the Phantom of the Opera (and love it!) and let's be frank shall we. Christine should have never ended up with either of them. Erik was insane, abusive and manipulative. Raoul was the least likely hero I've ever seen. 
> 
> SPOILERS for a +25 year old Broadway show  
> That being said after viewing Love Never Dies the idea stuck with me. The end of Phantom of the Opera saw both Christine and Erik say their goodbyes and get over each other. But that last bit where he confesses his love about her and she was standing right there got to me. 
> 
> And so here we are. Now perhaps I can actually write original works damn it.

           

              Jesus Salazar hated going out the island after dark. The boss had been strict and no one crossed the godfathers Italian or not. At this time of night the lights were bright, the screams from the roller coasters came and went as the tide rolled under the pier. He carried a brief case full of fat American cash for the monster of Coney. He passed the towering goddess pillar who guarded the entrance to ‘dreamland’ in a rush, he was late. He snorted as he passed by the smiling crowds, some dreamland, this place was nightmare disguised. It wouldn’t be as popular or in demand if not for the monster. Sweat dotted his brow, he wanted to be home, away from the looming shadow of the pier and the man who held it in a crushing grip.  The families had crossed him once and when he sent one of the boys back in several ornate boxes. They decided peace was the way to go. Coney wasn’t worth much back then and truthfully no one wanted to war over a stretch of sand. They instead brokered peace, the monster paid his protection money on time and the standing agreement was to leave each other alone.

            Anyone who came to Coney to say differently never came back. They found the bodies days later washed up. The freaks always got away with murder because they were smart. No one ever saw anything on Coney, certainly not the workers under the protection of the monster.

            He cursed his luck, wondering around a pier late at night with a brief case full of cash. He also cursed his boss, Don Mangano wanted to see the ‘Oh La La Girl’ up close and private tonight. The cash was for the monster so he wouldn’t storm into New York and kill everyone for stealing her off Coney for the night. Mangano had phoned ahead and requested to meet with the mysterious man. The he sent Salazar, the lone man on the bottom, to go get her.

            Salazar came to the end of his long journey. He stood at the backstage as the girls shook around the bright lights, delighting the surely smashed audience with their feathered dresses and long legs. A flash of titillation, nothing too much to offend the god faring public.

            “You are late.” The voice came to his left and he gave a jolt. The woman facing him was old, her brown hair pulled tight into a bun with a sour face to match her disposition.

            “Traffic was murder.” Salazar replied laying on the old charm. She did not even bat an eye. _Ouch, tough crowd_.

            “He does not want to be disturbed so late at night.” The old woman sneered. Jesus, what was with these people? Did they not understand who the hell he represented?

            “To damn bad. Why do I need to see him anyway?” Salazar had the cash, the ‘Oh La La Girl’ was almost done her set. It was a done deal.

            This time the old woman smiled and he wished he kept his mouth shut.

            A hand yanked him by the back of the collar and as he fell backwards as a thick rope swung around his neck. It pulled tight as he landed before he flew up by his neck into the rafters screaming. The applause covered any cries of help and Salazar was too busy clawing at the thick, prickly, rope for freedom to try. He wheezed as he swung around to the walkway above the theatre to see the monster himself.

            He was a dapper gentleman dressed all in black with gold detailing along the collar. His cuff links were skulls, his black coat trailed behind him like a shroud of darkness. His black hair was slicked back. He would have passed for a regular joe if not for the mask. The bone white mask covered his left side and swept over the nose. Salazar could do nothing but stare.

            “I was going to save you the trip out here but I thought a face-to-face meeting would make a better statement.” His voice was a deep, rich baritone that barely concealed the malice dripping venom from every word. “Meg Giry, Phantasma’s ‘Oh La La Girl’, will never be bought and sold like a common whore. She under my protection as is every girl in Coney. If Mangano wants to maintain our arrangement he shall never approach my company over this issue again.”

            Salazar nodded his head enthusiastically. Fuck that old man, this shit was not worth dying over. In a quick yank Salazar was pulled over the safety rail and cut free. He hacked as precious air filled his long denied lungs. The dark shadow loomed over him with gray eyes narrowed in slits.

            “I _trust_ I’ve made my point.” The specter graveled at him. Salazar nodded again as he got to his feet, grabbed the suitcase and ran for it.


	2. Chapter 2 Till I Hear You Sing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So what exactly happened before the Opera Populaire burned down?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok some ground rules about this fic. 
> 
> Erik was never physically abusive (unlike his Webber counter part)   
> manipulative? sure  
> murderous? yes  
> insane? For sure 
> 
> but physically throwing Christine around and terrifying her-nope. 
> 
> I'm drawing the line in the sand there with this fic. Also Meg was never pimped out in this fanfic. Erik would never let any one come to harm under his watch. After all the guys been through his protective streak is boarderline murderous.

           “I thank you master.” Madam Giry remarked as she laid down the latest receipts for him to view. He took running Coney very seriously and under his leadership the freaks had found safe harbor. Money was power and the master had made enough to see them through the next century safely. One day he would sell Coney for a handsome price and retire quietly. No one would wonder where he went, he did not entertain in the penthouse suite downtown and he certainly did not join the high society lifestyle. His deformity would not make him welcome among the fast set and the famous mayhem in France over a masked man would eventually tie him to the murders there should he be recognized.

            As smart as he was, he was getting older, and he could not risk the police ever finding out his true identity. Although flushed with funds the move would devastate him emotionally. He did not take well to change.

            “I do not forget all you have done for me.” Erik responded flatly. “Luckily our friend was in the photo booth this past weekend. Pass his picture around to make sure the others understand he is banned from the park.”

            The master handed the photo to Gangle who bowed before disappearing into the theatre for his last curtain call. Phantasma was finishing at 2:00 am in the morning and no doubt Madam Giry would be pressed to get everyone out of costume for cleaning. She hoped some of the more amorous girls would at least get undressed before being whisked away to party in New York.

            “Is there any other business?” Erik asked, he was twitching to leave. This was the time his genius mind came alive. Giry knew he was composing another masterpiece. Early in the morning those not nursing a hangover would linger by his office to hear the key strokes of the haunting melody. Her heart soared every time he plucked a note. Her daughter, her Meg, was going to receive an aria and finally leave the Broadway trash by the wayside. She could embrace her destiny and one day rival Christine Daae.

            Therein lay the problem. She had seen the papers, she knew what Hammerstein was up too but could not bring this to Erik’s attention. His obsession with the girl had cost them to flee Paris. She was solely to blame for forcing them from their home with nothing but the clothes on their backs. Meg never saw her for what she was and Erik was just as blind. It was better to let the matter come and hopefully go without incident. He was far too busy with Coney to care if Christine was coming to America.

            “No master, none that I can think of. I bid you good night.” Madam Giry took her leave with a slight bow. He waved her away and went back to balancing the sheets. He would remain until they were processed then retire to his lair to surrender to genius. She caught her breathless daughter outside.

            Meg had been a precious girl once long ago and with the passage of time she had grown into a woman. Her heart shaped face and expressive blue eyes were worth more than the title of “Oh La La Girl”.  Madam Giry understood Meg was only paying her dues but it still rankled her to see the blond woman reduced to such low standing.

            “Mother did he see?” Meg asked face full of anticipation. She always complimented the master when she received her set but when his back turned her face fell. She hoped as her mother did to finally excel into opera. Inside Madam Giry was weary that her little girl was developing a crush on their benefactor. However there was opportunity if Erik decided to swing Meg’s way. Giry would keep an eye on the situation to see if it developed.

            “You know he is busy.” She gently chided her child. Meg’s smile remained in place but she was forcing it.

            “I know but he put so much effort into it. I thought he would like to see the debut.” Meg pulled her shawl closer as if to fend off the chill. Meg would never known the Italian Don had taken to her and Madam Giry kept a tight rein on her exuberant daughter. She did not leave with the others to join the party seekers in New York. She also kept a strict eye on the young men vying for her attention. Meg wouldn’t fall prey to the allure of money when the stage was crying out for her talent. She wouldn’t waste her prime years tucked away from the public to a man who would only leave her wanting. Christine had chosen that life and barely anyone remembered her.

            “What you think and what he wants are two different things. Now come, we should leave the master in peace.” Madam Giry ushered the star of the show away from the door.

            “But—shouldn’t I at least let him know it was a smashing success?” Meg begged.

            “He knows. Now come.” Madam Giry tapped her cane against the ground firmly. For a moment she feared Meg would stubbornly insist as was her way these days but pleasantly surprising she did not. She nodded her blond head obediently. Moved by pity she put an arm around Meg’s thin shoulders.

            “My dear girl do not despair. I have heard the master work late at night and one day, very soon, you will sing an aria.” Madam Giry whispered to her as if she didn’t dare give voice to her hopes. As if, at any moment, he would appear to slap her down to earth. Meg’s eyes widened and her frown grew into a large bright smile.

            “For me?” Meg asked hopefully.

            “For you.”

            Madam Giry ignored the flash of newspaper headlines. Christine would have to content herself with whatever Hammerstein was doing. This aria belonged to Meg and eventually all of Coney Island for Erik had no one but them.

 

 

 

            Erik slammed his hands down onto the pipe organ keys. Anger vibrating through every cell in his body. Good God he hated the arrangement with a passion. He loathed every second verse with a rage so murderous he was shaking from anger. _It just wasn’t good enough!_ Not nearly enough for his Christine.

            As usual the wave of grief levelled out his temper and the dark melancholy he fought hard to keep at bay over took him. He sank into his chair and pivoted to glance behind at the portrait hanging behind his organ. The liar beneath Coney was his home and here he could proudly hang the likeness of the Madam de Chagny without judgement. He had lovingly updated it as the years passed. Christine had only grow in beauty and grace during his absence. He had paid a handsome sum to make the ever changing portraits his way and not some lifeless lump of art. A glowing lamp would reflect colored pieces of her likeness onto a backdrop. She moved and seemed to breathe as if she was standing in the room with him. His gaze was unabashedly adoring. Ten years, ten bloody years of New York and he was slowly going mad from missing her. Starving, dying, for one more moment of her voice. Several times he went to telegram her of his whereabouts but stopped himself just in time. He had known love only briefly and her life was so much more than he could give her. There was no darkness, there were no cages, and no freaks for her to fear. There was no point inserting himself into her life once more.

            She had married Raoul in the end, bore him a little viscount to carry the legacy. What was worse, she had left the stage to do so. He would gladly cut off his limbs to hear her preform again, to bask in the beauty of her voice as she transposed her audience to pure lyrical heaven. All the work they had done, all the power they held, was washed away to the ravages of time. One week turned into a month and then a year before her legend faded from the memory of fickle public.

           He would never forget, the music of the night wasn’t gone. It was merely slumbering, waiting for the return of his prima donna. He turned away from the portrait to glance hungrily at the newspaper. She was returning to his side, excitement and apprehension waged war beneath his skin when he found out. Madam Giry might think him oblivious to the news but he did not put all his eggs in one basket. His dark trio had brought this joyous event to his ears when Giry failed to do so. He understood her hesitancy.

          She had high hopes for Meg, unfortunately he had yet to tell her that her daughter had gone as far as she could. Meg would never stand in an opera house to deliver the splendor that Christine did so effortlessly. He was disappointed but not surprised by this development. He had coached her but she was more suited to the tunes of that awful Broadway rubbish that lined their pockets then intricate pieces of operetta. He still had to sit them down and deliver the news delicately but now was not the time. Christine was coming to America, even better he had nothing to do with it. It was destiny and Hammerstein’s rather large pockets that lured her here. She could not accuse him of manipulation.

         He wearily admitted she had every right. When they first started he had been her mentor, her beloved angel of music. He was flattered by the description. Little did he know that her father had woven a tale of angels and bullshit to fill her young head before he died. That one little mistake took a life of its own when _his_ bloody opera house got bought and sold straight out from under him. Those scrap metal collectors did not listen to his wisdom as the previous owner had. He knew now that she was far too young to understand what he did in the name of love and he was far too insane to realize how wrong he was to enforce such things on a young woman. Hanging Joseph Buquet hadn’t been the best idea but his anger, once unleashed, was a destructive force. Crashing the chandelier had sent her running to the safety of Raoul’s arms. The events that followed were the result of him falling into insanity until up was down and it was all or nothing. His love had turned into obsession and while he lost the opera house, he lost Christine to his madness as well. He sometimes wondered how scared she must have been to reach out to him in his bout of wrath.

         There was a silver lining to it all.

         She had found him recuperating in the attic, after the mob had ransacked his lair and they made a different sort of music that night. It had been the one and only time he had her all to himself. This was their aria, their song and he had no need to share it with the world. He would share her glorious voice but the rest belonged solely to him. In the dark they gave in to their carnal cravings, he had been gentle and she was loving. Together they came alive as they did through the music that bound them. She had whispered her love into his ears and he had returned them in the night. His fortune was still sitting hidden in the lair and he let his angel sleep while he struck out to gather it before the mob returned to hunt for him in daylight hours. They would make their escape afterwards. He hadn’t been quick enough. Madam Giry and her daughter had saved him that night as the Opera Populaire had burned to the ground. The mob was a hungry thing and he had fled with his two compatriots before their thirst for revenge saw his head sitting on a pike. He let them think they had cornered and killed him. He left them to their empty triumph.

        They made their way to America completely penniless but free of any scandal. Coney was just a pier when he came, slowly but surely he tapped into the latest thing that made the crowd tick and composed the terrible music to bring them in. Empty little ditty’s that soon made a pauper into a king. He could churn out a shitty piece of music, and the masses would thank him for it with their money. All the while secretly he lay dying for another taste of her glory. He meant to send for her, he meant to bring her back to him willingly this time. When he was able to afford her first class ticket he found her married instead.

        She had waited a full month after his ‘death’ before marrying the viscount. He could blame her young heart, he could blame her weak nature for the empty idiot but truly he was the one at fault. He left her alone and Raoul had stolen her away. Ten years had passed, that one blazing memory of their night together was merely a candle in the dark now. He walked away from the organ, the sheets of paper begging for his composure, to climb the stairs winding up to the theatre. The night time crowd was gone, the performers and their crass voices vanished. He donned a top hat before opening the back door and heading for the railing of the pier. The hazy fog was coating everything, the mist wet on the open side of his face.

        Somewhere, out on the water, his angel was coming ever closer. A thin line of electricity raced through his veins at the thought.      

                

 

 

 

            Christine was searching through the catacombs, scrambling in the dark to find him. She could save him if she worked hard enough. This was not a debt she owed for his leadership, this was not the pity that stabbed her heart at his malformed face. This was love that shielded her from the growing flames and granted her the courage to offer a monster her affections.

            She woke before she found her love, groggily she sat up in the darkness of the first class cabin. America was still a good three days away but Christine’s nightmare was growing by the minute. She had been free of them for so long and now they returned to torture her. The pang for his love, his voice, and the mere presence behind her mirror never truly went away. She glanced beside her at the other bed in the room. Raoul was still out.

            Despite their advanced age he was still the wide eyed, party seeking, fun loving Raoul she had known. However he did not realize that she was no longer the innocent youth he loved. Their marriage had been a whirlwind, it had been fun on Raoul’s part and desperation on hers. Her angel had given her a gift before he died and she had done all she could to insure their survival. With the Opera Populaire nothing but ash and soot she only had Gustave now. Raoul had been a loving husband, their society circle was large if slightly hostile to the interloper, but as the years wore on her voice faded from the limelight. The stage closed to her and the heights she had known were lost. She hadn’t practiced to keep her voice in top form and it was too late when she found out the state of their affairs. Raoul was a good man but bad investments had left them with little money. They would have to sell off the ancestral home soon if their fortunes did not improve. Raoul was handling it well but he always had money. He knew nothing of being poor and while he soldiered on, entertaining their friends and enjoying his status she quietly counted their dwindling fortune and worried over it.

            She never fought with him about it. When Hammerstein made his offer Raoul had seen it as a grand adventure, not the lifesaving income she knew it was. She did not seek another coach to whip her back into shape. She could not risk the public at large realizing the great Christine Daae could not sing a nursery rhyme without sounding pitchy or squeaking. How her angel would turn from her, how he would mock her weak lavish lifestyle that lead to the desolation of her fine instrument.

 _How dare you die and leave me to become the pale shadow of myself!_ She fought back and hung her head. He was dead and gone. This was on her and her alone. She feared the stage as she feared illness. They would turn on her the moment she opened her mouth. Her legend would become a cautionary tale for others seeking to follow her glory. Deep down inside she knew the truth of the matter.

            She was nothing without him.

            Pulling her legs up to her chest she wrapped her arms around them as grief of all she lost pressed down on her shoulders. She was Atlas, shouldering the world while her husband was off playing with his friends. Erik would not have let her go so far from the music of the night. He would have fought tooth and nail to keep her there in the spotlight where she belonged. He would not let wealth or status turn her head from the power that came from her voice. But he was not here, he would not return to her, and reminiscing about him would not bring him back.

            She thought about him anyway. There was comfort in remembering his commanding presence. Insane he was, vile and murderous but he was the love of her life. She hadn’t know how to handle him and in his anger he frightened her. When faced with what he was and who he was she had embraced him to save Raoul but also to free him from what tortured him. If all he needed was her love she would gladly give it. For a moment he had her love, in all its forms and it broke through to him in his madness. She performed a miracle and he had set her free. Yet she found something stronger than freedom in him and she returned. Not out of pity or ownership but out of the taste of his lips and his love for her. In her foolish youth she thought they could work towards a better future. And they had for one night before he died.

            Shortly after she found she was carrying Gustave and when Raoul offered her the world, the security she craved in uncertainty, she had accepted against her grieving heart. Gustave did not know the truth. The high society ladies that gossiped about her behind her back did not know the truth. But she did and when he was born with gray bright eyes she had been elevated. He took after her looks but his eyes were all his father. She told everyone he had her father’s eyes. Raoul was none the wiser but he never could connect with Gustave as she did. He did love the boy but he did not spend too much time in his son’s company.

            To her delight and sadness Gustave loved music. He even composed filling blank sheets with lovely melodies. As music had given life between her and her opera ghost, it gave mother and son a bond as well. Raoul was left by the wayside as the two grew close and despite Christine’s many attempts to bring them together they did not mesh well. Sometimes she wonder if Erik had passed on his hatred for Raoul through paternity.  

            Getting up out of bed, she wondered towards the balcony and opened the door to let the cold Atlantic Ocean air in. What would she do when she arrived? How would she maintain the illusion she could still sing when she was nothing more but a washed up has been.


	3. Chapter 3 Only Love Can Hurt Like This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christine's been found out and her angel of music isn't happy about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just some more rando thoughts. 
> 
> Raoul is not a bloody abusive, heavy drinker, easy to set aside husband. He's still Raoul from the play, the fun loving, good time seeking, fair husband. I thought it was nuts he turned into a gambling, shitty man to make Christine's choice super easy. It would have added to the play if they were a loving couple and Erik was taking Christine back with just being himself. 
> 
>  
> 
> Also this story diverts hard from Love Never Dies storyline after this chapter. 
> 
> Also Also, comments and kudos are greatly appreciated.
> 
> *God damn it I posted the story missing an entire chapter. Fixing it now.*

      

             Reporters were swarming like a great buzzing horde when they finally passed through customs and made their way down the gangplank. Christine had donned her bright red dress and matching overcoat. The white fox fur trim was warm against the early fall weather. She smiled brightly, trying to cover her anxiety as the reporters flung question after question in her direction with heavy New York accents.

            “Hey Madam Daae, how does it feel to be in America?”

            “Hey Christine what are you going to sing for us?”

            “How about a sneak peek at those pipes?”

            Christine kept a tight grip on Gustave’s hand as she tried to find the carriage Mr. Hammerstein had promised her. The reporters were giving her a headache with all the flashing from their cameras. Raoul wasn’t helping her out either, he jovially threw an arm around her shoulders and pulled her tight to his side offering his best smile.

            “No sneak peeks my America friends from the Madam de Chagny. Buy tickets to the show instead.” He laughed. “If you would be so kind to stand aside, we will be on our way.”

            They would have none of that. They pressed together cutting Christine off from her much needed exit. Gustave tried to wrench his hand free but she pulled him towards her. Chaos erupted as they sensed she was trying to leave. It was suffocating.

            “Is it true you engaged Hammerstein for money? Is the great Madam de Chagny out of cash?”

            Raoul’s face darkened. “Now see here sir-”

            “Come on old boy, no one actually believes the amazing Christine Daae would return from a _long_ retirement if money wasn’t involved. According to my sources the debts are piling up. Care to comment?”

            Luckily the sky opened up and started to pour. Raoul shed his top coat and held it over his family but they were quickly becoming drenched. Christine wished she never came to America.

            In her misery she caught sight of a strange thing. A black horseless carriage pulled up and a tall man, a Dwarf woman and a round man stepped out. They hurried through the crowd, slipping through the tight knot as if they were apparitions. The tall man carried a large umbrella and flung it over the wet family.

            “Madam Daae please forgive our late arrival. Your carriage awaits.” The thin man remarked bowing to her as the other two mirrored his actions. Christine shot a glance at the engine sitting on the back of the cab. She studied the people before her and felt a familiar chill crawl down her spine. Something was off.

            “For Gods sake Christine let’s go.” Raoul urged pulling her towards the carriage through the crowd that had suddenly gone quiet and stepped back from the trio that had arrived. The fat man quickly pulled the door open to a red velvet enclosure.

            “That’s more like it.” Raoul approved as he hoisted Gustave up into the dry space before boarding.

            “Where are we going?” Christine asked as rain pelted the umbrella and the unpleasant stench of the wet ocean assaulted her senses.

            “To settle you into your rooms.” The tall man assured her. “Mr. Hammerstein had spared no expense.”

            Christine knew something was going on. She had not heard of horseless carriages like this, the trio of unusual people reminded her of circus performers. However her hem was drenched, her son needed to change his clothes least he catch his death, she reluctantly took the outstretched hand of the thin man and joined her family inside.

           

 

 

 

            “What a vulgar sort of town we found ourselves in.” Raoul remarked as he scanned the lavish penthouse suite. A piano was sitting in front of ornate doors overlooking the immense city around them. A lounge chair off to the side where she could relax. The Madam de Chagny would not be lounging any time soon and the mood inside the suite was far from enjoyable.

             After today’s brush in with the press Raoul was sulky about their ‘grand adventure’ and his wife was in no mood to entertain him. She agreed the press were very invasive about her privacy but there was little they could do to squash the rumors. The unanswered question of money would certainly hit the society pages. Gustave wondered in from his room.

            “Father, look at what was in my room. Shall we wind it up?” He hoisted a snow globe with a monkey on it. Christine felt that cold chill grow ever more when she caught sight of the two round cymbals clenched in its fists. Someone knew who she was, someone knew who he had been and left their child this macabre gift.

             She had to get a grip on herself. It was the nightmares, that’s all, they were making her paranoid. No one knew she had stolen to his side or that one night produced an heir.

            “My dear boy, I am tired. Perhaps tomorrow.” Raoul brushed him off gently. Gustave’s face fell and Christine readied herself to rush to his side to comfort him. He was very sensitive. There was a knock on the door and her husband hurried to see who it was.

            “Raoul old boy, come, join us for a drink.” A loud voice echoed through the door and Christine winced. The Walters had found them. 

            Coming up behind the grinning Raoul she put a hand on his shoulder. “Perhaps we should have a quiet night in?”

 _And not spend any money_. She silently added hoping her husband would show the common sense she knew he had.

          “Nonsense my dear, I shall be back shortly. Come on Bradley let’s go.” Raoul left her to watch Gustave. She let the door swing shut and was tempted to lock it.

          “Father never plays with me.” Gustave commented as he sat down on the carpet and wound the toy up. To her surprise a light shone brightly as the monkey happily smashed along with the tune.

          “Your father loves you.” Christine assured him before taking a seat to look closer at the toy. He had kept one almost like it in his lair. She wondered if he brought it with him from the circus.

          “I know.” Gustave gloomily replied. Unable to take his sadness she drew him into her lap and sat down on the lounge. “Mother tell me about the opera ghost.”

          Christine drew back to smooth his soft brown hair. She had turned their story into a fairy tale to tell her son late at night.

         “Where were we?” She asked leaning back to get comfortable.

         “The pretty singer had seen his hideous face. But I don’t understand, if he’s so ugly how do they end up together in the end?” Gustave inquired. Christine sighed heavily.

         “There is more to love then looks my dear.” She cautioned, wishing someone had pointed that life lesson out all those years ago. “The pretty opera singer should have seen beyond what he looked like and looked at his actions instead.”

          Gustave looked even more confused. “But he murdered someone.”

         “Indeed he did.” Christine replied wearily. “And he would carry what he did for years to come.”

          Her voice was colored with years of regret. She could have stayed his hand, helped his madness had she only known how. He would not have hurt her despite committing heinous acts and although she loved him she did not forgive him for them. He was paying for what he had done, she was sure of it.

         “He seems very scary.” Gustave shivered. Christine hoped he wasn’t catching a cold.  

         “Perhaps this story is a little frightening for such a gloomy night. How about you have a bath and I’ll tuck you in with a better one.” Christine remarked. Gustave kissed her cheek as he ran off to do just that. There was another knock at the door. Wearily Christine got to her feet hoping Mira Walter did not want for her company.  

          A bell boy handed her a folder with music sheets inside. Opening them up she scanned the pages of notes. It was an ambitious piece that would tax her depleted talent. It was almost like….his music. The sharp pang of anguish made her sit down just as the toy started to play without her winding it up. Gazing at it she suddenly wished Raoul had stayed with her. Something was wrong.

         The doors to the balcony flung open as the specter of her opera ghost swept in and regarded her coldly. He was dressed in a long black coat that trailed behind him, his gray eyes were narrowed slits of disgust. His mask was white bone against the hot electric lights. But he was not a figment of her imagination. His chest drew breath, his face had aged.

         Overwhelmed Christine did the only thing she could do. She fainted dead away.

 

 

 

         Considering they hadn’t laid eyes on each other in ten years Erik thought it was going rather well. Raoul was busy drinking with the overly loud, crass, Walters and his little viscount was too busy in the tub to wonder in on their reunion. Striding across the floor he knelt by her lax body and unable to resist, swept a hand down her silken arm. She was so warm and pure he could barely stand it. Swinging her up in his arms he deposited her in the chair and greedily drank in the sight of beloved Christine. Her face was slender now and her high cheek bones pronounced. Her brown hair swept up in a clip that was far too simple for those elegant locks. She was still just a tiny thing as she had been at the Opera Populaire.

         He reached out to lovingly touch her face when she jolted awake, brown eyes flashing open before skidding away from him. They had been apart for so long he had to remember to give her space.

         Instead of throwing her arms around his neck as he expected her too she jumped to her feet and her perfect face twisted in anger.

        “How bloody dare you show your face here! How could you let me think you were dead all these years?” She tossed at him and he got to his feet, backing up from her attack.

        “You didn’t mourn that long my dear.” He pointed out getting furious himself. If she was going to throw the gauntlet down he wasn’t going to let her get away with it. She was just as much to blame as he was.

        “Get out!” She hissed. His innocent, lovely Christine had grown a pair of vicious claws while he was banished from France. It shouldn’t arouse him but it did. He liked this side of her.

        “Not until I find out why you did not wait for me!” He returned, lacing his words with poisonous intent. It drove him mad that she would toss him away. His calm demeanor evaporated. There was too much hurt to rationally push aside his personal feelings.

       “Why did you not send for me? Why would I wait for someone who was _dead_?” She repeated stressing each word with a stomp of her dainty feet as she strolled over to the lounge and gripped it tightly. Her knuckles turned white.

       “You should have known me better than that.” He commented sourly.

       “And you should have sent me word of your survival!” Christine shouted before her shoulders sagged. “You should have taken me with you.”

         He sighed getting to his feet, slowly approaching her. “And what? Subject you to the poverty we endured when we came? I could not do that to you and when I was well off enough to bring you back to my side I find Raoul, yet again, the winner.”

        He hadn’t meant to dredge up old history but it ripped his heart up, shredded it, to see his former rival standing where he should be. The bauble on her finger was large but empty. The one he had designed for her was far better. Everything about him was a far superior match to her and yet ten years later she was married to the vapid party boy.

       Christine regarded him coldly. “I did what I had to do to survive and I make no apologies. You abandoned me and you let me believe you were dead for ten damned years! Why bother correcting the assumption?”

      This was getting out of hand. They were going in circles instead of moving forward. By God her voice had matured and he was aching to hear how it would sound. He had to move her towards reconciliation if he ever wanted to attain heaven again. Softening his voice he grasped her shoulders gently.

      “Dear Christine, angel divine, I am sorry.” He put aside his ego, he embraced the suffering he fostered on her when he left with a heavy guilty conscious. He cast aside his old wounds and bitterness. She was here, she was with him once more. What could possibly stand between them?

      “Mother is someone here.” The little viscount was out of his bath.

       He turned to address the intruder but she grabbed his arm and shoved him onto the balcony.

      “Five minutes. Let me put him to bed and we can talk freely.” Christine demanded. He was about to protest but a severe look from her and he went silent. He waited, in the rain, while she tended to the little beast for what seemed an eternity before she opened the doors again. He could see how tired she was, how the day had sapped her vitality. He should be the gentleman, take his leave and let the lady rest but he was a hungry animal long denied a meal to sink his teeth in. The need to rebuild their lost music was too much to bear and he was dying to feel it again.

      “You should sing, while your husband drinks far too much and the little beast is sleeping. Just a quick rundown of the aria I composed for you. I haven’t heard your voice in such a long time.” He purred leaning towards her eagerly. Christine shook her head insistently, a curl came loose and dangled from her bun.

      “No,” she said firmly, “it’s too late.”

      “It was never late when we were together.” He pointed out stalking forward as she gave him leeway. He was corralling her to the piano.

      “That was then and this is now.” She stated firmly, she looked panicked but at what he could not guess. The whole episode was frustrating. Surely after all they had been through, she wasn’t afraid of him. If not of him then what vexed her so? A suspicion started to form. The way she turned from him and his voice, the way she avoided looking at the piano.

      “How about just the warm up?” He pressed.

      She hit the piano bench and scrambled off it as if it burned. _Oh no._

     “No, no, I’ve already warmed up.” She insisted putting the lounge between them. _It cannot be._

     “Well then if not the aria how about a little Acis and Galatea?” He asked. Surely it was just his imagination, there was no way on Gods fucking green earth what he thought was happening was actually the truth. “Unless you are in need of stimulation, Faust then?”

      She shook her head, growing pale and ever fearful. He stroked the keys on the piano lovingly. Fearful himself as he watched her steadily. 

      “No I already practiced and need to rest my throat.”

       He could always tell when she lied, she gave herself away. She shifted her left foot, stared at the ground unable to meet his calculating eye. After ten damn years he still knew every inch of her. There was also the small matter of timing.

      “Christine you arrived a half hour ago and I’ve been here twenty minutes. Are you telling me that between Raoul taking his party down to the lobby and story time with the little viscount, you’ve warmed up and sang your throat raw?” Erik summarized sarcastically. “That must have been some song.”

       Christine went pale before she exploded in what was an increasing number of emotional fits. “Why on earth would I sing for you? You’re supposed to be dead!”

       “Don’t try to dodge the issue madam. Is it true? Have you let yourself go?” He responded calmly and icily. All their time, their training, it couldn’t have been for nothing. He hadn’t heard her name whispered in the concert halls for a near decade. He thought she was privately engaged with several high paying clients. He thought, perhaps, she was giving lessons. He never imagined the nightmare they found themselves in.

        She backed up towards the balcony, trapped and he cornered her by caging her with his arms. She could try to flee from him but she would never escape the truth.

       “Admit it.” He demanded. This could not be happening. Her voice, her power, could not be lost. She tried to push him away but he gripped her upper arms firmly.

       “Let go!” She pleaded, her claws retracted.

       “Sing something, anything! God damn it Christine I’m starving! Dying to hear the precious voice I remember in my dreams! Sing for your master!” He shouted, eyes boring into her soul. He’d find the truth of this matter if it was the last damned thing he ever did.

        Her defiance deserted her. She sank against the balcony’s decadent iron fencing defeated. “I can’t.”

        Agony, white hot racing barbs of pure evil pierced that cold black thing he called a heart and twisted for good measure. He wasn’t aware he had let her go in shock but he felt her fingers curl against his collar holding him in place.

       “I tried a while ago.”

       This was a nightmare made real.

       “My instructor suggested I take up needle work instead.”

        Madness, this was madness, his angel was silenced. Her gift squandered on that joy ride Raoul and a squalling brat. How dare they suck away the essence of her destiny! What more could they do to her. She needed to sing as she need air, _did no one understand that?_

       His mind reeled, pushing back against this awful night. He might actually start to hyperventilate. He might burn down the hotel in retaliation. Erik calmed himself as her dead brown eyes locked onto his own.

      “So you know the truth master. I am no more a prima donna than I am a queen.”

      She turned away from him and sank across the lounge chair putting her face in her hands miserably. Her soft rose colored dress bunching at her feet. Surrounded by all that money could buy, she was utterly bereft. He refused to believe it.

     “Sing for me. It’s me, I’ve seen you at your best and your worst.” He pleaded and played the beginnings of a warm up. She hung her head. A disturbing thought occurred to him. The rumors of her lack of fortune, the whispers of debts too high to pay made him uneasy. “Christine, if your fortune hangs on your ability to win Hammerstein over you must sing.”

    “How can you be so cruel?” She accused and stubbornly refused to listen to him.

     She wasn’t ready, he understood that. He was pushing her too hard as he had when she was young lady. She wasn’t ready then and she wasn’t ready now. He had to be patient but the concert was in a week. He slammed the piano cover down.

     “I’ll be on Coney if you change your mind.” He turned his back.

     “I’m ashamed.”

     “I’m a malformed former circus side show freak. You know nothing of shame.” He shot back in spite. His hopes dashed at ever hearing the heaven that he had known. He might never again. He heard her start to sob. He wanted to gather her to him and protect her from the jeers that would come her way should she fail to deliver the performance promised but to coddle her was her husband’s job. To cheer her was her sons. His one and only function was to make her exquisite and he could not do that until she was desperate enough to try.

      Despite knowing this her sobs haunted him all the way back to the Coney.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who posted an entire fanfic with a missing chapter *thumbs up* THIS GIRL!


	4. Chapter 4 Dear Old Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christine runs away to Coney, and Erik is more than happy to see her again. Her son on the other hand...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If no one has figured it out I'm posting the entire story up. And if you've read so far I hope you're enjoying yourself. 
> 
> I just wanted to add, I love Beneath a Moonless Night so much, no one but Webber could make a 'and we banged' song sound so classy. LOVE it.

          

              Christine stood at the gates to Coney Island. The hustle of laughing families, the screams from the rides, and the sound of the Ocean caressing the beach drowned out the miserable failure she felt. Hammerstein had not heard her sing, neither had anyone else. She had stood on stage and before the music had started she had begged an extra day to recover from her travels. The stage manager had insisted she remain and at least go through a quick rehearsal to which she refused. To her shame she used her son’s eagerness to see Coney as an excuse to leave the theater.

             She could beg off a day but what about tomorrow? And the day after that? How long could she tally the excuses before the truth was exposed? The gulls crying out above her head had more musical finesse then she did.

            “Mother what should we see first? The mermaid pool or the strong man or Phantasma?” Gustave asked whirling around in a circle to take it all in. Raoul was nursing a hangover from the night before and could not keep an eye on him. He would sleep well into the afternoon leaving her with the responsibility to look after her son. She didn’t begrudge him, she had come to accept Raoul for who he was even if he disappointed her. Standing at the gates leading into his domain she paused only briefly before Gustave pulled her over the threshold.

            “Let’s get some iced sugar.” She suggested walking up to the stall. Although it was the start of fall and the season coming to a close thousands packed the beach to soak up the last warm days of summer. Christine was wearing an emerald green gown and a black feathered hat. Her son was wearing tweed shorts, knee high socks, brown shoes with a gold buckle, a white shirt with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and brown vest. He begrudgingly allowed her to put a cap on his head.

           Once their purchases were secure she fumbled with her wallet praying she had topped it off.

           “None of that Madam Daae.” The man with the handle bar mustache insisted. Christine was used to a certain amount of notoriety but her maiden name was never used.

           “I must insist.” She encouraged with a slipping smile. She wanted nothing from him. Certainly not his charity for pity’s sake!

           “And I must refuse. Please know that all your expenses are covered by Mr. Y while you are on Coney.” He gestured her to politely move aside as the line behind her had grown. Not wishing to cause a scene she thanked him as they moved on.

          “Who is Mr. Y mommy?” Gustave asked curiously.

         “An old friend.” She replied setting aside her anger. If he was determined to humiliate her she would use his generosity to lavish their son with wonderful memories of the park. Taking his hand she pointed towards the goddess statue leading into Phantasma. “Shall we try this first?”

        “How about a look at the end of the pier?” He asked instead staring out the vast amount of water around them. Christine stifled the quick flash of panic. Gustave did not know how to swim. She was about to point out the mermaid show was starting soon when she heard.

        “Heavens can it be!”

         She hadn’t heard that voice in ages. Twirling around she found none other than Meg Giry standing in a smart blue outfit. Her blond hair up in a fetching blue hat. She looked modern, young and carefree. In contrast Christine felt old, tired and outdated. She did not hold it against the blond woman for her own state of affairs, if anything she was entirely happy to see another familiar face.

        “Meg, good heavens I haven’t seen you in ages!” Christine held out her arms and Meg barreled into her. They clung to each other tightly.

       “What are you doing here?” Meg asked smiling brightly.

       “To show my son around Coney.” Christine put a hand around Gustave’s shoulders. He smiled brightly up at Meg.

       “I know who you are! You’re Coney’s Oh La La Girl!” He pointed at the poster not far off. It showed off Meg’s assets quiet well. Christine gave a start but kept the smile on her face. Things were different in America and who was she to judge another woman about her business. She was after all hiding a secret that others would point and declare shameful.

        Meg put a fist on her hip and pointed her blue beaded purse at the young man. “Nothing gets by you little viscount.”

        Then the smile slowly vanished from the blue eye woman as she continued to stare at the little boy.

        “Meg is something wrong?” Christine asked.

        “His eye color is quiet peculiar.” Meg commented finally taking her probing gaze of Gustave towards her old friend.

        “A gift from my father.” Christine lied smoothly.

        “I see.” Meg did not looked convinced and that sinking feeling inside the pit of Christine’s stomach started to grow. The blond was not another noble lady, or a passerby. She was Meg and she had known him as much as Christine did.

        “Will you come see a show with us at Phantasma?” Gustave asked.

        “Honey I am the show.” Meg reached into her purse and handed them tickets for the noon show time. “Come and see me anytime!”

        She rushed off after with a promise to be in touch. Christine watched her go with a feeling of nostalgia before turning away to approach the booth.

       “Two tickets to the mermaid show.” She reached for her purse.

       “Two tickets on the house, compliments of Mr. Y.” The woman behind the counter replied. Christine sighed and put her purse away.

        “Mommy, we must thank Mr. Y for his hospitality.” Gustave whispered, his little round face set seriously. She had raised him right but could not explain the complexities of their situation to him. Raoul would have a fit and return them to France post haste if he found out. The idea of leaving Erik high and dry made her blood run cold.  

        She smiled wanly instead at the product of their union. “Indeed we shall.”

 

 

         “What’s she doing here?” Madam Giry fumed.

         “Calm down mother, her son wanted to see the sights.” Meg protested as she put on her pink costume. “What does it matter anyway? Christine is contracted by Hammerstein and has nothing to do with Coney.”

         “What if he knows she’s here?” Madam Giry fretted.

         Meg yanked on her pink tulle dress and said snidely. “What makes you think he doesn’t? The cart that sells sugar ice wouldn’t take her money. When I asked Freddy about it he said the master decreed that Christine Daae shall not pay a penny for her entertainment.”

        “She can well afford it.” Madam Giry uttered under her breath.

        “Why are you so threatened by her?” Meg whirled around in her pink feathers and anger. Why was anyone threatened by Christine? She was just a singer, just a human being made of flesh and bone. What was the big deal?

        “Why aren’t you?” Madam Giry shot back her face darkening.

        “Why would I be?” Meg exploded. “She’s my friend.”

        “She’s your rival!” Her mother shouted back frustrated. Meg pulled her jewelry on in quick jerky movements. Her mother may be right in all areas of dance and theater but this was the one place she had little wisdom.

        “She was once long ago. She’s not anymore. No one has heard her sing in a near decade meanwhile I put on four shows a day and I’m at the top of my game mother.” Meg reminded her. “She can’t hold a candle to my popularity.”

        “I hope so, for your sake.” Her mother slammed the door when she left. Meg let out a heavily sigh. Truly she wished her friend the best but she was getting that aria. Besides Christine didn’t even know he was alive and as much as Meg loved her, she would remain ignorant.

 

 

 

          After a restless slumber Erik gave up, dressed for the day and entered the office he shared with Madam Giry. The last days of operation were upon them and come October Coney would shut down and be vacant until the late spring. His winter house was set up, the freaks were joining other traveling circuses before returning to Coney next year. It was all winding down and he was determined to close the year with a splash. The aria was nearly complete. His muse had come back to him and it was for her that destiny forced his hand, chased him from his bed to let his genius run wild. He hadn’t felt so alive in such a long time and he never felt like a rotten corpse the day after. He was over exhausting himself but time was of the essence. She would be leaving him soon and he needed to present his idea before Hammerstein found out her little secret.

          Looking over the messages he let the usual invitations to tea, entertainment and such make friends with the waste basket. Invitations to business he would review later after a stiff cup of coffee. There were thank you notes for the acts that were leaving early, a ball would be held in a three week’s time to make sure good relations were in place for next year. The contracts were already signed but he liked presenting his employees with a grand affair. He might be the genius behind Coney but without his faithful servants, his outcasts, there would be no show.

          There was a knock on the door.

          “Enter.” Erik responded dully looking over the news with vague interest.

          “Madam Daae to see you sir.” Squelch replied hesitantly.

          Erik nearly choked on his coffee, heart beating wildly in his chest. So soon, so soon after slinging insults at each other she was back. He hated the gray dressing coat he wore but at least he had been sensible enough to wear proper shoes. Glancing at the mirror he smoothed his hair and made sure the mask was in proper place.

          “Show her in at once.” He demanded taking a seat and trying not to smile too wide. The moment her brown hair beasty came into his office it snuffed out his excitement. Of course she took the little leech to his island. It was, after all, an all ages establishment.

          In his little hands he clutched colored paper roses that they sold in the merchandise shop. Christine followed in his footsteps holding his hand and several packages from the shops. She was beaming, the salt air seemed to agree with her and a pleasant blush flushed her cheeks from running around the amusement park. He drank in the sight greedily, for love was a precious thing and her happiness ever more so.

         “For you Mr. Y, as a thank you for your hospitality.” The little viscount handed the small bouquet across the desk. He may hate the kid for what he did to Christine’s career but he could not be rude to a kind gesture, as there were so few of them to note in his life.

         “You’re welcome little viscount, I am glad you enjoyed yourself.” He responded folding his hands over the paper roses and wondering if Christine would return home now that she and her son had produced adequate gratitude. She lingered.

         “Gustave would you stand outside for a moment. I need to speak with Mr. Y in private. Do not go anywhere, use your note book to entertain yourself.” She instructed crouching down to face him.

         “Yes mommy.” He replied obediently and left as she gently placed their purchases from the park on his desk.

          Once the door clicked shut her pleasant attitude evaporated as she whirled on him. “I did not ask for your charity.”

         “And yet you enjoyed it.” He pointed out snidely. He was under attack again and in a foul mood for it. Although, he admitted silently, he had been foolish to think she was just another Carlotta swayed by pretty things. He would not love her if she was content to be bought and paid for.

        “We have money.” She insisted.

        “Not a lot.” He replied. He had done thorough work to find out the extent of her resources. Raoul never should have let himself be talked into the market. One bad investment was excusable, several was just bad business.

        “No, not a significant amount but we can pay our own way.” She insisted before reached for her purse. “If your employees will not accept our money, then I must pay you myself.”

         He let out a heavy sigh of impatience. “You’re not angry about the money.”

         Her eyes widened in indignation. “I beg your pardon!”

         “You’re angry about your voice.” He accused jumping to his feet to storm around the desk separating them. “Did you sing today? Did you stand in Hammerstein’s presence and reveal the truth or did you flee to Coney to escape it? To the one person who can save you from ruin.”

         She raised a hand to slap him and he caught her wrist in a gentle grip. She can be angry, she could beat him if she felt so wronged but he was damned right and he knew it. He was also not vexed about her ungratefulness, indeed he was ever so delighted she came to Coney. She spent his money and she had a wonderful afternoon. He wasn’t affronted that she shared it with her son. What really made his anger rear its ugly head, what riled him in was the fact she ran from the stage in the first place. It was her home damn it.

         “I did not sing.” She admitted through clenched teeth. “I couldn’t.”

          He let her hand drop listlessly to her side and crossed his arms feeling pride swell in his chest. She had come to Coney and she had come to see him. She could use him to coach her and cast him aside. He wasn’t thrilled by the prospect but he could live with it. To be able to stand in warmth of her voice was all he needed in repayment.

         “You can, the talent is still there buried under neglect.” He lectured and to his overwhelming joy she listened. Finally he was making headway.

         “I am so angry.” She continued in a small timid voice. “At you for leaving me and at myself for letting go.”

          Sympathy and understanding stabbed at his heart. He felt the same frustration at their situation. Once upon another time he knew how their story would end. They made their mistakes and no matter how clever he was, he could not turn back the clock. They would have to continue in separate directions when it was all over. He could curse it, rage against the inevitable, but she was married with a child in the mix. What could he offer her to tempt her from her husband? When he came between the blossoming relationship the first time, two people had died and he resorted to kidnapping. He embraced madness and it nearly destroyed all three of them. He resolved to act honorably this time around if not for her than for his own sanity.

         “I know,” his voice was a whisper. There was nothing but regret weighing heavy between them. “There’s nothing for it. I can do nothing to help us regain what we had, however, I can guide you once more. You will sing and soar again dear Christine.”

         She hugged herself. “I wouldn’t know about that. I could give Carlotta a run for her money on a bad day.”

         “Don’t be preposterous.” He snapped and winced at the same time. No one could rival the Spanish bitch on a bad day. Not even the croaker’s Cocker Spaniel.  “Let us begin today, right now. I’ll have Madam Giry escort Gustave home.” 

          Christine picked up her parcels. “No need. I will return after supper for tutelage.”

          The old him would have insisted she stay and start work immediately. The old him would have stubbornly argued till they were both angry with each other. He was not the old phantom beneath the opera house. He understood there were demands on her time. He was about to accept the reasonable request when he heard someone playing.

          Christine’s face grew pale as he gently pushed her aside and followed the sweet melody down into his lair where the dark trio were lingering around his organ, listening to the little viscount pluck the keys as he scribbled the notes in his notebook.

          “The little viscount plays,” he uttered in wonder. Of course her child played, it was in her blood. He felt himself warming up to the little beast just a smidgen.

          “He is musically inclined.” Christine nervously cleared her throat and stepped into the room. Thankfully the lamp projecting her likeness was off and the portrait was empty. That would be highly awkward for everyone involved.

         “Sorry master, the little viscount wondered away.” Gangle commented, sounding amused.

         “No matter, it was a pleasant melody. I compliment the little maestro for his arrangement.” Erik bowed his head as the boy turned around and closed the book. The used pages took up half the bound volume. It was more than curious that he composed at such a young age. How old was the little viscount? Surely eight or nine years of age. It reminded Erik of his own childhood, such as it was.

        “Come Gustave we must return for supper.” Christine held out her hand, it was trembling.

        “Can we not stay mother? I want to take a ride on the roller coaster and stand at the end of the pier.” He whined disappointed.  

        “Another time my darling.” She promised trying to hurry him and their packages out of the door as quickly as possible. Perhaps she sensed his irritation at the boy and was working to please him. There was no other possible explanation and he let them go knowing that tonight his ears would receive his fondest wish.

 

 

 

         “So…is anybody going to discuss the gigantic pink elephant in the room or am I going crazy?” Gangle smoked as he looked around at his little family. Fleck nodded her head, the bells at the end of her ponytails ringing. Squelch glanced around to make sure they were not overheard.

        “The boy is surely his.” Squelch remarked as he lit a cigarette himself.

        “Wonder what the Oh La La Girl will make of that. She caught them on the pier.” Fleck informed them leaning on the haystack near the Coney sign. They were waiting for a cab to bring them into the city for a private performance. Some duchess of so and so was engaging Mr. Y for entertainment while she was in town. A few acrobatic feats, a couple of cheap tricks and every person on 5th Avenue and up would be talking about Coney. It would drive the audience in and they would receive a yearly bonus before taking their leave in three weeks. They were the last to leave every year. With the exception of their master who was the one to lock the place down and flee to his winter residence someplace along the coast.    

        “Just as well.” Gangle commented at the cab finally pulled up. “He never treated her any differently than us.”

       “Perhaps I should warm up my pipes and give it a go.” Fleck teased wiggling her shoulders to indicate a saucy innuendo. Gangle pinched her cheek affectionately.

       “Something tells me if you’re not being projected on a lamp in his office you might be wasting your time.” Gangle held out a hand to help her into the cab.

       “Something tells me if Meg finds out Christine’s coming back for lessons she might unleash her inner Madam Giry.” Squelch commented and stomped his own smoke out. If Meg found out about Christine the master would be facing more than Madam Giry’s ire. Christine was married and no husband would allow what was going on between the former lovers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now here's the thing about my phantom. Homeboy has GAME.


	5. Chapter 5 The Two Chagny's

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christine takes the first steps to singing and Raoul starts to notice something funny is going on.

 

  “I thought we weren’t going to spend any more money?” Raoul remarked as he opened the door to their suite. In her absence he had contracted a respected nanny to look after their child. This freed Christine up to attend her lessons tonight. The paper parcels decorating the room were stacked neatly. There were two dresses, matching shoes and bonnets, play clothes for Gustave, a toy horse, a toy clown, and snow globe.

            “Compliments of Mr. Hammerstein.” Christine lied smoothly.

            “He should complement us by providing us with dinner out.” Raoul pointed out taking off his gloves. The Walters, the Hammond’s and the Browns were out on the town and it vexed her husband that they could not join them. Someone would have to fit the bill and Raoul had spent all his good will already. To insist that their share was covered by their rich companions would only embarrass Christine. The papers would love it as they loved his drinking, the lack of expense accounts in the stores and every other little detail of their lives.

            “Darling we’ve talked about this.” Christine remarked pulling off her expensive fur coat and changing into a more suitable travelling cloak.

            “And just what am I to do while you have your lessons?” Raoul asked sourly.

            “Perhaps you can take up a hobby. Do not wait up for me I will be late.” Christine instructed pulling the white tassels to her cream coat closed and waltzing out the door. There was a time she would have begged Raoul to understand, to appeal to his good nature but she was pressed for time. Rehearsals were in the morning and it was already six in the evening. It would take another 45 minutes to reach Coney if the cab hurried.

            After some delay Christine found herself back at Coney. She rushed through the park, ignored the men and women chasing entertainment. She found herself at the office door before long. Anticipation and dread churning in her stomach unpleasantly. Tonight, for the first time in forever she was going to sing and assess the damage. If she could survive through her performances by a hair and impress Hammerstein she would walk away a rich woman. Rich enough to say good bye to New York at any rate. What happened after that was anyone’s guess.

            His disapproval at waiting was evident.

            “Oh don’t you start.” She warned. “I have disappointed enough people today.”

            “We only have so much time.” He warned.

            “And we will make the most of it by not fighting with each other for once. Shall we?” She gestured to the staircase leading down into his lair and he followed her. The lair was empty save a bed, a lounge chair near the fireplace, a large mirror, the pipe organ, and a window near the ceiling leading out to the beach. They were far away from the noise of the crowds.

            “Warm up dear.” He instructed playing the row of notes one after the other. She followed him as best she could before she pitched near the upper end. He was staring boldly at her, no doubt cataloging all her failures but she shoved her mortification aside and kept going. Squeaking and off note while his face betrayed nothing.

            Finally she let the music die with his piano keys. They stood in total silence.

            “Well, spit it out.” She encouraged waiting for the worst.

            “Are you are well aware you can still carry a note?” He began.

            “High praise indeed.” She muttered sourly.

            “However the problem comes in on the higher end of the spectrum.” He leaned back. “You are forcing it.”

            “I beg your pardon.” She responded confused. She might have a hard time reaching her old heights but they were still attainable. Her survival depended on it.

            “You are forcing your throat to make sounds it hasn’t made in years. You need to feel the damned music for it to work. Who cares if you hit the high notes? If you lack the passion you’re no better than any other Carlotta out there. Even when you were little it was always there Christine Daae. Music wasn’t just a passing hobby to embrace, it was life! That’s made you unique and that was your gift!”

            Christine knew it was hopeless. “I need more than passion.”

            “You need more than money for motivation.” He pressed into uncomfortable territory and crossed her boundaries.

            “You forget yourself sir.” She coldly reprimanded him.   

            He slammed the piano keys hard. “And you have forgotten the music of the night.”

            She tossed up her hands. “Then why are we here?”

            “To find it again. You want your money? You want to get out New York alive? Then you better find your passion, your spark again, because you’ll leave here crushed without it.”

            She wanted to argue with him, to attack and defend her actions but he was right. In the end he was always right. He knew Raoul was a self-absorbed fun loving boy, he knew that she was destined for greatness. He did not know how far she had fallen without him until now. The anger and resentment they fostered was keeping them from embracing their goals. They both needed to surmount the past.

            “Where do I begin?” She asked offer the olive branch.

            “I want you to sing with me again.” He replied.

            That was dangerous. His voice was a powerful hypnotic. She longed for it to fill her ears and guide her towards a new path but was hesitant to feel it again. He was at his most deadly when he was singing with her.

            Before she could propose an alternative the key strokes of their song started fill the silence, moving through her body like a virus. It attacked her already weak fortitude and drew her in. He waited, opening the door for her to begin. For once he gave her the choice to join him and she did so without a thought. Her voice rang out, blending and letting the arrangement enfold her before he joined. Together, despite her lack of skill, they build upon the foundation, they rose, they climaxed and finally she her voice shot up to the stars without the weight of failure dragging it back. She unleashed her misery, let go of the past and gave his music the best she could offer until the last note faded away.

            They both heaved breath as if they had run a mile and metaphorically she knew they had.

            “I had forgotten how good that felt.” She smiled, full of energy, full of possibility. For the first time in years Christine Daae felt like herself.

            His face crumbled as he held out his arms to her and she went to him. Enfolding his head to her shoulder tenderly.

            “It’s still there, we just need time.” He grasped her back tightly before letting go. “Soon you will ascend to greatness. Give yourself credit, put the effort in and all will be yours again. I swear it. Now let’s try the aria. I’m itching to hear it performed.”

            She nodded her head, stepped away from him and they began once more. The next morning there was no need for excuses, no need for fear. She could not enrapture Hammerstein but she did impress him. She took piece he produced and made it into a passable success when she finished. Her voice would take time to return but for now it would do. There was no doubt when she debuted all the world would remember her glory. As she returned to her dressing room she found the single red rose tied with a black silk cloth. He had been there for her and her heart ached to know what he thought.

 

 

 

 

            Erik was in heaven. The sound, the sheer angelic quality was still ringing through his veins. By God, the journey had been hard but the reward was well worth it. She was hitting all the right notes, his body never felt so alive. His soul nourished by her feats of lyrical ascension. This was joy, this was passion, and this is why he fought so hard to restore her gift. To entice her back to glory. He would enjoy every moment of her performance, rehearsal, training until she was gone. When she left she would leave the memory of their time together. His heart broke nightly to send her back to her hotel and no doubt it would wither and die again when she was truly gone.

            “Have you seen this review?” Madam Giry broke him out of his reminiscing. 

            “About?” He inquired taking it from her. They had decided to take breakfast above the spinning Coney Island carousal. There was a staircase right through the middle of the large round wheel attaching the carousal together that led to a nice little flat space. The morning was still dark, the tide returning and he could slip into his office using the back entrance to the theatre once the crowd started to arrive. The sunrise was always the calmest part of the day. Madam Giry had brought cucumber sandwiches and black coffee for them to partake as they sat over an old blanket staring out at the vast empire around them.

            An empire they build together.

            “Meg’s talent was clearly wasted on this ruffian.” Madam Giry groused.

            Erik waved her off only reading the first few sentences. “It’s too late to damage our income. I wouldn’t give it a second thought. What we need to accomplish today is planning the Year End Ball.”

            The ball for the end of the year sendoff was going to happen the day after Meg gave her finale bow for the season. Coney was closing up. He always felt a touch sad when the mermaid pool was drained, the windows boarded up, tables and chairs cleared away for another year. In a few months he would be back with new ideas, a new set for Meg to sing and tricks for the public to pay for but he still missed the island. His solitude was refreshing for a mere month before the loneliness set in.

            “I’ve contacted the caterers and hired the musicians. Don’t you dare utter a complaint about whom I hired. I put the list on your desk and you never returned an answer.” Madam Giry graced him with an accusing look. So swept away with Christine in the late hours he hardly paid attention to the matters that did not require his immediate attention. He should for he didn’t want Madam Giry to become irate with him and quit. He could not bear to lose one more person dear to him.

            “I’ve been busy.” He admitted. “Thank you for looking after the arrangements.”

            His kissed her hand with brotherly affection. She waved off his compliments.

            “With Madam Daae not doubt.” She muttered.

            Just like that he was caught.

            “You disapprove.” He noted keeping a tight lid on his temper. How dare she try to muddle in their affair! Nothing scandalous was going on. It was all purely innocent. He tried to convince himself but there was a danger to associating closely to Christine. The need to protect her, to love her body and soul was overwhelming. He always had a muted protest on his lips when they said good night, an excuse on hand he never used so that she did not leave him. She was as intoxicating as her voice and he had a hard time remembering he was no husband but she was a wife.

            “Of your indulging your obsession again. Why yes, now that you mention it.” Madam Giry gritted out through clenched teeth.

            “Obsession is such a dirty word. She is merely an acquaintance and pupil.” He argued gently and reasonably. Getting angry never did him any favors with her and would confirm his guilt. He had nothing to feel guilty about, absolutely nothing.

            “Need I remind you Meg and I were the ones who save you from the mob.”

            “I remember and I have paid you handsomely in reward.”

            “Hang the reward. Do you remember where she was? Not at your side surely but in Raoul’s arms, his carriage and then his home.”

            “They’re married, this conversation hardly matters and neither does history.”

            “History, my dear Mr. Y, is all that matters. Without it we are doomed to repeat past mistakes.”

            She had a point and it took everything in him not to lash out. To storm and tantrum like a child denied was beneath him. He still indulged in a sullen mood however. The morning was likely ruined now.

            “Nothing is going on.” He protested struggling to remain relaxed and calm. There was nothing going on, he was a teacher. A teacher who was mesmerized by her lips, her slender curves and amazing deep chocolate eyes. With a subtle winced he knew something was going on for him but she was entirely innocent. He would keep his indecent thoughts to himself and he would be damned before he shared those with _Madam Giry_.

            “Teach her if you cannot help yourself but I implore you to let her go. If not for her family then for your sake.” Madam Giry responded flatly.

            He helped her to her feet, down the stairs and onto the boardwalk like the gentleman he knew he was capable of being. All the while he deeply resented her and maybe unkindly thought to push her down the stairs.

            Try as he might he could not shove away the solid points she made about his own dalliance. However Christine’s time was not up just yet. He could still keep things under control and professional. He was her friend, her teacher, her angel of music, that’s it. The longing in his heart however said otherwise.

 

 

 

            “Master, the little viscount is back.” Gangle announced. Erik rubbed his temples. If it wasn’t the Madam de Chagny haunting his life, it was her son. This was the fourth time in a week he was subject to interruptions by the future viscount. Sighing heavily he nodded his tired head and the little boy shuffled into the square office looking horribly bereft. Erik immediately surged to his feet.

            “What is wrong little viscount? Is your mother well?” Erik asked as he briskly walked around the desk to crouch down next to the small brown hair child who was stubbornly looking at the ground. Normally he took issue with people unable to look him in the eye but this was not a case of disgust. No, the tiny minstrel was clearly distraught about something else. He clutched a cheap potato sack to his chest and sniffed audibly in the silence. For a moment he reminded Erik of little Christine who stabbed her knee and he thawed a little more towards the boy.

            “Mother is fine. I’m sorry, but it stopped working and I tried to fix it.” He unfolded the sack and Erik’s glowing music snow globe and monkey lay in parts. He was mildly impressed the boy managed to take it apart.

            “No matter, I can put it back together.” Erik responded patting his shoulder.

            “But I don’t understand. I repaired the conduit wire, it should have worked.” The boy mused looking more confused than comforted.

            Erik took a second glance and sure enough the patch job should have worked. He held up the base of his invention and pointed to a connecting rod that had shifted out of place.

            “It would have if not for this.” Erik declared proudly and watched the little viscounts face light up with understanding. Bright little bugger wasn’t he. He was after all Christine’s boy and Erik loved all parts of her, it seemed he had a fondness for the part she shared with Raoul as well.  

            “I can repair this while you play in park with your friends. I can have it done before you go.” Erik stated. Since Coney was closing, his duties were rather light these days.

            “I don’t have friends.” Gustave muttered.

            “You are the future Viscount de Chagny, how can you not have friends?” Erik wondered, rather unkindly out loud.

            “I don’t care much for games and marbles. I hear music in my head all the time and I like taking things apart. I once took the telephone apart to see how it worked. Father was furious.” Gustave recounted.

            Erik couldn’t help it, he laughed at the audacity the child had. No wonder he took the toy apart. Gustave had the soul of an engineer, he needed to evaluate and create. A child prodigy after his own bleak heart. Feeling a sense of kinship unknown previously Erik took pity on the poor kid.

            “Very well little apprentice. How about we repair this together and I’ll instruct you on the mechanics of the music globe?” He offered.

            The little boy’s eyes widened significantly with joy. It was then that Erik gave a start, a cold chill spread down his back. Gustave’s eyes were the same color as his own. He shrugged it off. He could never trust his own mind and his own eyes must be playing tricks. Surely there was a reasonable explanation.

            One building session turned into a lunch the day after, and then suddenly Gustave was making friends with the employees of the park when Erik was busy, much to the chagrin of his nanny. Fleck loved to tumble with him and show him how to take a fall. Gangle regaled him with tales of travels far and wide. Even the stand offish Squelch warmed to the little viscount and his constant need for conversation. He took it upon himself to safe guard the boy and his nanny while in the confines of the park much to Erik’s amusement.

            He found himself looking forward to the next question, the next assessment of the little princeling’s music or the next tour around an attraction in the park. Almost as much as he looked forward to meeting Gustave’s mother in the night. Between the two of them he was hardly lonely.

 

 

 

            Two nights before the performance Christine had managed to perform the aria he wrote to perfection, she let the music sweep her away to the point she forgot Erik was no longer playing. Startled out of the chorus she let the music die. He was staring at her, enraptured, his gray eyes alight with what she could only describe as intense desire. It had been a long time since anyone looked at her with such intensity. The last time was ten years ago in an attic.

            “Was I flat again?” She teased trying to bring him out of it. If he kept staring at her something was going to happen. She had an inkling of what and that was a line they could not cross no matter what. As things stood she could walk away from him. He had her voice, their arrangement complete but to give all of herself to her angel again frightened her to the core. How could she leave him if she did that? The dark desires lingering from the affair would ruin their lives. She would be a sinful whore and he would have the papers clamoring for a scoop on the man who seduced her from her god intended marriage. The attention they showered him with would be completely gratuitous and he would come to hate her for the intrusion on his privacy. It had disaster and tragedy written all over it. It was like that since the beginning. 

            “No, no, you were perfect. The fault is mine, I got carried away and forgot to play.” Erik commented standing up. The hour was late and when he stood she knew it was a que for her to go. She put on her green traveling coat as he tossed on his own black overcoat. While they were down in the lair the skies had opened up and drowned Coney. Rain didn’t gently fall to the ground, it stormed as if the heavens had something against the island.

            “Perhaps you should stay here. This damp air isn’t healthy for the lungs or your voice.” Erik commented looking evilly at the pelting rain doing its best to strip the varnish off his pier.

            “I can’t be out before Raoul gets back.” She mentioned the loathsome subject. They never spoke of her husband. In the time they had together, however short was theirs not his. Erik’s face turned as bleak as the weather.

            “He knows you’re with a tutor. Surely in this weather he will forgive you.” Erik protested gesturing at the storm upon them. “Give yourself ten minutes for it to clear up.”

            “I have to go.” Christine grabbed an umbrella and ran for it. He called after her, he might even go after her but she was determined. She couldn’t stay. Ten minutes could turn into an hour, into five and then the whole night would be gone. What would Raoul think when he came home to find her bed empty.

            She peered through the dark curtain of rain, no traffic came out this late to Coney. Perhaps she should turn back, her dress was soaked, her feet even more so. Her umbrella sagged from the onslaught. Turning into the hall of mirrors she wearily admitted defeat. What the hell was she doing? What did she have to be afraid of? Shivering in the cold chill she started to walk through the maze the umbrella propped up against the wall. Gustave told her there was a secret path through the mirror maze, one of the mirrors at the end of the hall would twist if she pushed and she could take the back entrance to meet her angry opera ghost at the end. It wasn’t that far between the mirrors, the carousal and the office.

            It was creepy inside the mirror maze. Her footsteps echoed around the darkly lit passages. Rain drowned out the rest. She came to the end of the first hall and pushed on the mirror there. It did not budge. Trapped, she was trapped. She calmed herself, all she had to do was go back. She turned around started retracing her steps, she came to a fork in the wall and turned right. A few minutes later after watching her image stretch she meant a dead end. It was left, she was supposed to take a left. She went back and chose the left side, coming to the door she pushed and found it locked. She rattled it with all her might.

            “Erik! Are you there! Can anyone hear me?” She screamed panic starting to bubble. It was just like him to engineer the door to lock from the outside. Probably to stop others from returning to the front entrance once they came to the end for a second go around. _God damn it!_ She banged her fists hard on the steel surface. “Gangle! Fleck! Squelch!”

            She slipped on her dragging skirts and landed in a heap, her ankle smarting. _And here’s the end of the famous Christine Daae. Died in a mirror house a washed up opera singer._ She thought bitterly. Humor was a weapon she seldom used but she was terrified. Her mind whispered that he was trying to trap her again as he had long ago. She pushed the thought aside. He had let her go every night, he appeared saner. _He killed two people._ Her conscious whispered. _What would they say about it?_ She tried to get to her feet but the moment she put weight on her foot she quickly sat back down. She prayed it wasn’t sprained or worse broken. What would she say to her husband? He would find out. He would drag her away and she’d never see her opera ghost ever again.

            That’s why she ran, not to escape him but to cling to the moments they had left.

            “Christine! Damn it all! Are you in here?” Erik’s voice called out startling her out of the dark turn her thoughts had taken. She could not bear to lose him.  

            “Over here!” She shouted as footsteps started ringing off the silent walls as his light grew closer. He was as drenched as she was. He rushed to her side and embraced her before pulling back to take her hands.

            “Your hands are like ice. Don’t disappear on me like that. I’ve been searching for you everywhere. Clearly you won’t catch a cab back to the hotel in this weather and if you had waited I would have told you so. Damned fool.” He chastised but he did so worriedly. She shivered and he put his coat over her. “We must get you out of here to warm up.”

            “That might be a tad difficult.” She winced when he helped her to her feet. “I tripped on my dress and landed badly on my ankle.”

            He sighed. “Too bad it wasn’t your head, the floor could have knocked some common sense into you. Come on.”

            In a graceful move he swung her up and started to march determinedly through the maze. He came to the same mirror she had but he tapped it three times and it swung open to a straight path winding parallel to the maze. In a matter of moments they were out the back, where the skies were still doing their best to flood the world. He made his way underneath the protection of the carousal and with a jump into the side entrance to his office close to the pier. Without a protest she let him carry her down into his lair. She quite enjoyed the closeness they shared.

            “You must get out of these wet clothes. Lay down in the bed to keep warm, I’ll rouse Fleck to see what we can find for you to wear.” He mused turning his back to stroke the fire nearby before marching upstairs. She put her hands out to the flames trembling from head to toe.

            “Erik I can’t stay.” She pleaded. He paused at the top of the stairs and glanced over his shoulder.

            “My dear unless you can conjure Noah’s gigantic boat, you’re not going anywhere. To hell with your husband. I never liked him anyway.” And he slammed the door. She shouldn’t find his attitude amusing but she did.

            When the door shut she gave in to the inevitable and stripped off the heavy soaking dress to hang by the fire. Even her underclothes were soaked and she dropped them too before climbing into bed. The sheets were black, the comforter expensive and the pillows smelled like the clean after shave he used. In mere moments she was slumbering only to rouse when the door opened again. Erik paused at the foot of the stairs gazing at her. Her hair was down, it was clear from her clothes drying at the fireplace and that she was stark naked.

            “I found you…suitable garments.” He sounded breathless and avoided looking at her as he offered them.

            “Thank you.” She mumbled grasping the sheet to her chest in an attempt at modesty. Suddenly the whole situation was deeply funny and she chuckled.

            “Do you mind sharing the joke?” He asked now staring at the ceiling.

            “It is nothing dear, just…I was so worried Raoul would find out that something was amiss and here we are. Me naked in your bed.” She laughed heartedly now.

            He frowned before his gray eyes snapped to her. “It’s not…there’s nothing going on.”

            “And that’s the joke.” She explained drily to which she heard his chuckle. Her imposing opera ghost, the specter that made a whole ball room stop dead was laughing at a joke. They both were, in retrospect, insane. He toppled by the bed clutching his stomach as her shoulders shook beneath his sheets.

            “Who would have thought we’d end up here?” He asked tenderly catching her eye. She wanted to reach out to remove the mask he wore, but she knew he would not be comfortable.  

            The mirth died on Christine’s lips. “I wish we had gotten here sooner.”

            His smile faded and she mourned its loss. “So do I my dear and now it’s too late. Hammerstein will make you a star. Then you’ll go home and that will be that. Get some rest, the lounge chair is good enough for me.”

            She curled onto her side and slept. The last thing she saw was him across from her getting comfortable. How she wished he would join her. How she wished she was brave enough to ask.  

 

 

 

 

            “Gustave what’s the hurry?” Raoul could be playing cards with the Mitchells but no, the nanny needed the day off and here he was at Coney wasting time before Christine was free. He glanced at the ladies sunny themselves. He would always be faithful to his wife but he also had an eye for the ladies. No harm in looking after all.

            “Hi Fred!” Gustave waved at the iced sugar cart and the mustache wearing man waved back.

            “Gustave, no ice for you today?” He called jovially. Raoul wondered how he knew the young boys name.

            “Not today but tomorrow I shall pay you a visit.” Gustave promised and the man bowed his head before returning to his customers. Another man in a devil mask with tiny children following him handing out flyers flocked the young boy.

            “Young princeling, Lily’s on in five minutes if you want to catch the show.” The man was a teenager who pushed his mask up to smile broadly at the young lord. The others followed his suit talking adamantly.

            “Oscar and Kyle are going on in ten if you can’t make the mermaid pool, their cutting Fleck into the act. Oscar sprained his ankle last night falling in the rain.” One little girl in pig tails said.

            “Oscar was drunk, everyone knows that. James is swallowing swords in fifteen after he’s done draining the maze.” A little boy remarked holding out a flyer to a passing customer.

            “The maze was flooded?” Gustave inquired concerned.

            “Everything was flooded. It took half the morning to get the carousal dry enough to run. There’s talk of shutting down early.” The ringer leader remarked before crouching down to grasp his son’s shoulder. “But it’s just talk. If you see the master today, can you speak to him and see what you can find out?”

            Who was this street trash to address his son so intimately? Half the bloody park so far took liberties. He expected Gustave to remind the gentleman that he was a future viscount. Instead the little boy took his hands in his own.

            “I promise to ask him all about it and report back on our way out.” Gustave declared determinedly. The teenager looked relieved.

            “Thank you young master, off you go.” He said bowing his head. The others shouted goodbyes before returning to their duties. Gustave walked off in the opposite direction of the mermaid pool signs.

            “Where are we going?” Raoul asked feeling the spirit of adventure again after such a strange start.

            “To visit Mr. Y.” Gustave said firmly.

            “But we will miss the mermaid pool show.” Raoul pointed out disappointed.

            Gustave turned around to look at him beseechingly. “Father, people are scared that the rain last night might prompt their benefactor to close the park early. I gave James my word I’d find out if Mr. Y will close up and as a gentleman I intend to keep it. Besides I’ve seen the mermaid pool show eight times now. It’s a good show but this is important. We can catch the noon one if you’re so keen.”

            “How many times have you been here?” Raoul asked aghast. Who the hell were these people?

            “Little princeling!” A man seven foot tall and several pounds of muscle swung Gustave up by his arm pits to sit him on his left shoulder. His son laughed joyfully before the strong man wearing a spotted leopard shift put him down.

            “Father may I introduce the ninth wonder of the world, Coney’s Unbreakable Marcus Flint.” Gustave said as Marcus held out his hand as was custom in America. Sighing in the back of his mind Raoul offered his and winced when the man gripped too tightly.

            “Mr. Flint.” Raoul said as he withdrew his hand and worked the blood flow back in by flexing his fingers.

            “Have you suffered any damage during the rain?” Gustave asked and Raoul blessed his kind heart but this was getting out of hand. At this rate the park will be closed by the time they find any enjoyment.

            “The tent was torn up a bit but nothing too bad. Is it true we’re closing up early? Have you heard anything from him yet?” He asked. Raoul had enough.

            “Sir, my son is not the owner of this establishment and clearly I have no idea why everyone is addressing him with familiarity. If you have questions go ask your master. Good day.” Raoul gathered Gustave’s hand.

            “I’ll see what I can find out!” The little boy called as he was pulled away from the bewildered and clearly affronted man. Gustave yanked them to a stop. “Why are you being so rude?”

            “I beg your pardon?” Raoul asked incredulously.

            “You heard me. Father these people rely on Coney to see them through the winter. If the season is over early they lose their income.” Gustave explained as if Raoul had no idea what economics were.

            “What the devil has gotten in to you? Why does everyone know your name?” Raoul asked his mind spinning.

            “These are my friends.” Gustave explained patiently.

            When he returned home Raoul was going to have a good long talk with that nanny. Clearly she had failed in her duty. She must have brought him several times to Coney and he made friends out of boredom.

            “What about the Brown children?” Raoul asked.

            “They think I’m weird.” Gustave admitted looking shamed.

            “The Walters?” Raoul tried again. Surely the little boy was mistaken, he came from good stock, the others should be dying to play with him and forge future alliances.

            “I took apart their fridge remember.” He muttered looking small.

            “Oh yes, I forgot that.” Raoul commented. “Son there are somethings you need to know about the world.”

            “I’m well aware of my class father.” Gustave shrugged. “They like me in spite of it.”

            “What!” Raoul exclaimed. “Your heritage is nothing to be ashamed of. They should be kissing the ground you walk on.”

            Gustave shot him a look so bewildered it reminded him of his mother when he had done something appalling.

            “Why? The only difference between me and them is money.” Gustave explained far beyond his years. Someone was putting notions in his head that Raoul did not like. Having money was not a sin for God’s sake.

            “There is also breeding, heritage and land. There is more to your title young man than money and I have a lot to say to your nanny on the subject should I ever find you running around speaking to such people again.” Raoul argued.

            Gustave rolled his eyes. “Father, I have a lot to do today. If you’ll excuse me.”

            Then he whirled on his heel, shaking his head, stormed off. Raoul took a moment to absorb the fact that Gustave was growing up and now he was mouthing off.

            “Come back here!” Raoul demanded running after his son who was steadily making his way through the goddess pillar, pass the row of ticket lines where the sellers called greetings Gustave returned and finally down a hallway away from the main crowd. He greeted a fat man in a clowns outfit before the man knocked on the door and addressed the person inside. Gustave disappeared and Raoul raced to join the conversation. The big, round man glared at him closing the door firmly.

            “This area is off limits to the public. Are you lost sir?” He remarked taking out a cigarette.

            “That is my son in there. You will admit me.” Raoul demanded.

            “You’re the viscount then?” The fat man cocked an eyebrow as if he was unimpressed. He lit the smoke.

            “Indeed!” Raoul confirmed putting on all his airs. No circus freak was going boss him around.

            “I’ll let Gustave know you’re looking for him.” The fat man replied.

            Raoul was done with Coney. “Now see here I am his father-”

            “Now see here dear count, viscount or whoever the hell you are.” The fat man glared chilling Raoul to the bone. “I don’t care who you are but the princeling is with the master and when he is done he will find you. No one disturbs the master and certainly not when the kid wants to see him. Unless you’d like to bite off more than you can chew. The master is very busy today with the rain damage and does not wish to be disturbed.”

            “Who is this master you’re so fond of?” Raoul groused irritated with the whole thing.

            “None of your business.” The man shot back, he was almost bristling. Raoul was about to toss off a scathing retort when the door opened.

            “We should hurry and tell the others.” Christine emerged to Raoul’s surprise holding Gustave’s hand. Her face fell the moment she laid eyes on him. Her dress was dirty from water damage and her hair was down in a simple braid.

            “What are you doing here?” He asked dazed.

            “I should ask the same thing.” She returned looking disappointed.

            “I thought you were at your tutors.” He said. Something funny was going on and he didn’t like it, _not one bit!_

            “I was and got caught in the rain last night. I stayed over to weather the storm dearest.” She explained. “I thought you were busy this morning.”

            “Hung over you mean.” He replied nastily.

            “Not in front of Gustave.” She hissed shooting the boy a panicked look.

            “What is going on out there?” A voice asked behind them from the crack in the door way. Christine shut the door quickly. Raoul could have sworn he heard that deep baritone before but from where?

            “Gustave why don’t you go see James swallow some swords with your father. I have a few things to take care of before we leave Coney.” Christine instructed.

            “But I have to tell Curt and Marcus about the good news.” Gustave whined and it grated on Raoul’s nerves. He brushed by his wife, the fat vile man and his son to grasp the door handle and flung it open.

            Christine grabbed his shoulder. “No Raoul don’t-”

            The office was empty. He whirled on his wife hardly recognizing her. “Who was in this office?”

            “My teacher.” She responded.

            “Why didn’t you want me to open the door?” Raoul demanded getting frustrated.

            “He’s shy.” Gustave responded as if it was the most natural explanation in the world.

            “We are leaving.” Raoul announced. Both of his precious family members were hiding something but what he could not guess. Usually he was left out of their adventures but now he was feeling overwhelmed and disrespected.  

            “But father-”

            “Raoul please-”

            “ _Enough!_ ” Raoul shouted and his family fell silent. “We are going. Come on.”

            The fat man exchanged a look with his wife who shook her head before taking Gustave’s hand. “Very well. Let us hasten before you take to shouting the walls down.”

            “Can we speak with Curt and Marcus on our way out?” Gustave begged.

            “Of course we can.” Christine shot Raoul a dirty look so severe he was taken aback. What was wrong with everyone? Coney had cast a shadow over his family, they never fought like this before. His decisions were never challenged. As they pass down the hall he heard a woman talking to the fat man and for a moment she sounded like Madam Giry but that was impossible. She hasn’t been seen in years.


	6. Chapter 6 Dying in Paradise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christine takes to the stage and Erik faces down his demons.
> 
> Love never dies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In other words a lot of shit is going down peeps!

      

 Madam Giry had heard what happened. Squelch, Fleck and Gangle had unwisely talked about it while she put the costumes away. Christine may keep her mouth tightly sealed about her activities but one look from Raoul and they would be found out. How dare the little charlatan put everything she worked for at risk. Surely now her master must acknowledge the truth, Christine was a danger for them.

            She chose her time when he was alone. Since Raoul had whisked his family away from Coney her master would also be lonely without Christine’s presence keeping him company tonight. She was resting for her grand debut and now was the time to strike. To shove the limelight on how wrong Erik was, Christine and her bastard were not family, she and her Meg were.

            Coney would be Megs, all it took was a little planning.

            Knocking on the door she found him in the office for once. Catching up on the repairs needed to keep Coney going. He slouched over the paper work looking grieved.

            “It cannot be that bad.” Madam Giry remarked.

            He looked up with a start as if he hadn’t seen the numbers on the page before. He shook his head at her, the weight of the world on his shoulders. “No it’s not bad at all. We still come out ahead after the repairs and the ball by a good sixty thousand.”

            “Then why so sad master?” Madam Giry inquired although she knew the truth.

            “It’s the weather.”

            “It’s Christine.”

            His head snapped back as if she struck him. Perhaps she was.

            “Not this again.” He begged waving a hand to dismiss her. This only stroked the fires of anger in her heart. How dare he shrug off what would be disaster! Did he not care for their empire or Meg’s inheritance?

            “Damn it all Erik!” She shouted unable to keep the words in. “You were almost caught by Raoul! How long do you think he would have kept your secret? A mere second before alerting the authorities. The Opera Ghost alive and living on Coney Island!”

            Erik slammed his hands on the desk and it rattled. “I know!”

            “Then do something about it!” Giry challenged him. “I only say this out of love. Don’t go to her show. Don’t admit her and her little viscount to the park. Don’t have anything to do with either of them! They are not your _family_!”

            He stared at her gutted and she hated to do this to her friend but he must see reason.

            “She gains everything from you and you gain nothing.” Giry continued to drive the point home no matter the harm it caused him.

            “I live to hear her sing and her presence gives me life.” His words were pure aguish, his face tormented beyond reproach but she forced herself to be cruel. This was their survival, this was not the moment to spare the rod.

            Giry’s voice was ice. “And then she goes back to her husband.”

            The statement hung there undeniable. He gripped the desk with all his strength, knuckles white. She had pushed too far but she was unafraid. He would not strike at her, he needed her too much and the past would protect her from his rage.

            “Get out!” He demanded throwing his hands up. “And be grateful your past service to me saves your employment from my anger.”

            “And what would you do without me?” She challenged yet again. “Who would wine and dine our investors? Who would be your face when the public demands one? Fleck the little Dwarf or Gangle the pastiest man I’ve ever seen? Who do you have besides me and Meg? No one my dear, no one.”

            He folded his arms and asked wretchedly. “Have you no pity woman?”

            “Have you no common sense? New York is a big place with plenty of opportunity. I don’t need you as much as you need me. End it now or we walk away.” She demanded before strolling through the door and slamming it shut. Her reputation, her mastery over their empire made her far more valuable than a pair of big brown eyes and a small chest. He could survive this. She would see it was so and maybe one day Meg would inherit it all.

 

 

 

            Christine folded Gustave into bed. “Good night sweet prince.”

            She kissed his soft brown crown and watched the large gray eyes slowly close before easing the door shut. The night was still young and she had the urge to go to Coney. Her husband wouldn’t notice one way or the other if she was gone. The nanny was knitting by the fire.

            “I’ll be out late. Phone Coney if you need me.” Christine turned away to gather her red travel coat with the white fox fur. She wore a black evening dress tonight that highlighted her pale, creamy, skin. The black choker was complimentary to her scooped neckline. She fooled herself into believing she only wanted to get one more rehearsal in. She tricked herself into thinking the night was innocent.

            “Joining your husband then?” The nanny asked.

            With a jolt of understanding Christine realized she wasn’t talking about Erik. She was talking about Raoul.

            “Afterwards, of course.” Christine responded as she lied to the nanny and herself. It was better than the truth. The truth would rip her marriage apart and would cast her in the role of fallen woman, her reputation ruined. Her son, her precious boy, would have a black mark against him. Society would hate them all. She repeated that over and over to remember this was just a rehearsal.

            When she performed for Hammerstein, what then? That little nagging voice needled her. Back to France to play the loving wife, forgotten in the shadows while her husband spent his nights having fun with people who will never accept her. Was that her destiny?

            She rebelled against the thought. Her throat becoming constrictive, the confines of the carriage turned tight. It was a relief when the Coney Island sign came into view. Pulling her hat into place she made her way towards the office. The island was alive after being flooded, acts performed on the boardwalk and many a circus fellow bowed his head towards her which she acknowledged feeling the weight of her terse dinner with Raoul fall away. The world did not exist outside of Coney and the king that resided here.

            Knocking on the door she waited and it clicked open.

            There was something wrong. She knew so immediately by his tired and haggard face. He let her in and she shut the door. Her shoulders tight with tension.

            “Is something wrong?” She asked gently when he did not greet her with his usual smile.

            “No—yes—what are you doing here?” Erik fretted, messing around with the papers at his desk as if to ignore her presence.

            “I wanted to get one more rehearsal in.” She replied easily but her smile was forced. He was irate at her but she couldn’t fathom why.

            “Why? You are perfect. There’s no need.” He responded flatly.

            Christine was confused. He was acting as if she was intruding upon him and it made her uncomfortable. “I thought maybe I could visit with you. We could work on the aria if you would like.”

            Erik’s jaw clenched. “That’s has nothing to do with you.”

            Chrsitine drew back hurt. “My mistake.”

            Erik finally faced her and he was in a right foul mood. “Last night was your last appointment with me. We are done.”

            “Done?” Christine asked disbelieving and wounded. “Just like that?”

            “Shall I throw confetti in the air to mark the occasion? Yes, done.” He slammed a folder shut vibrating with acute annoyance.

            “But I—I don’t understand.” She stammered shocked and bewildered.  

            “Don’t you? Music is all we ever had together. It’s over now. The concert will be perfect, your performance flawless, what other business do you have?” He remarked so coldly she nearly shivered from the chill.

            “I came to give you tickets to the show.” Bewildered she reached into her purse to produce them. At the very least it should please him. Perhaps she should call upon him during the day after he cooled off.

            “I will not see it.” He dismissed the idea and her in one full swoop. Raoul could be spiteful, sometimes cruel but Erik was devastating when he put his sharp mind to it. She hadn’t missed this side of him at all. Anger burned in her veins against the slight. She was worth more to him than this aloof dismissal.  

            “Why are you acting this way?” She cried tears welling into her eyes to fall. So much for her gumption and iron clad will. They disappeared and left only a lonely heart reaching out for another.  

            “Why wouldn’t I!” He returned just as tortured jumping to his feet to accost her up close and personal. “You have a husband and a little boy. We may play the amorous couple but the reality is set. You made sure of that years ago.”

            He held her accountable for her sins. She went pale before her face twisted in anger. “You hateful beast!”

            He gripped her wrists and dragged her closer to his face. His grip familiar and crushing. “And yet you still came each and every moment available to throw my life into chaos! Just look at how fine you are tonight. Coming down to Coney to flaunt yourself like a peacock among the hens. How nice it must be to leave and go back to the normal life you live. If I am hateful, then you madam, _are vile!_ ”

            She ripped her hands free, threw open the door and ran, tears streaming down her face. She didn’t stop running till she was safely in the cab back to the hotel. Heaving in sobs and with trembling hands she yanked out a handkerchief. How could he say such wretched things? How could he seek to strike at her when she was looking for nothing more….

            …than his love.

            Understanding dawned. She was indeed vile. She, a married woman, a mother to his son. How could she throw their lives into chaos? Her life, no matter how empty, was her own making. She would live with her decisions no matter how much they leeched away at her spirit.

            It wasn’t all bad. Raoul did love her, he might not be in love as he once was but there was still love. She was content. She had lived with the whispers for years now, what was a couple more? She would lie and lie until she believed it. Sadly she realized she had the rest of her life to try.

            Opening the door to her hotel room she dismissed the nanny. Raoul would be home later, she needn’t wait for him. She pulled the covers of the silken bed up to her shoulders and tried not to pour her broken heart out over the pillows.

           

 

 

 

           Far away on Coney Island Gangle flinched as yet another mirror shattered in the maze.

           “What the devil?” Fleck asked coming up behind him to see what the ruckus was about. Marcus followed her just as confused. Another smash meant their ears and they both started forward to defend their home. Gangle stopped them cold.

           “Leave him be.” He remarked as another loud shattering sound echoed around the halls.

           “The master will have a fit.” Marcus supplied.

           Squelch appeared at the opposite end of the hallway and joined the party at the front. They were attracting a large, worried, party of Coney family at the door.

           “You dolt it _is the master_ and yes he is out of sorts tonight.” Squelch lit a cigarette as he winced at yet another mirror breaking under the wrath of their king. They had known him for nearly a decade. He never truly lost it but once he was there, Gangle knew him well enough to leave him alone.

           “What set him off?” Fleck asked grabbing a smoke for herself.

           Squelch handed them a flyer with Christine and Gustave’s smiling faces. They were banned from the park.

           “What the hell?” Marcus asked looking it over. “Has he gone mad?”

           “Was he ever sane?” Gangle responded.

           Another smash made the group jump before a long silence filled the rooms.

          “That’s it. I’m going after him.” Fleck announced, pulling up her tulle to straighten it and march off. Gangle gently put out a hand to stop her.

          “My dear you might want to rethink that.” He warned ominously before the choked sounds of anguish filled the air.

           Fleck gripped his hand. “Seems like he’s out of steam. Come on, he needs us.”

          Gangle sighed heavily as he joined Marcus and Squelch to follow her. The maze was generally able to be a standalone attraction. No one needed to man it. It would take nothing to close it down for a few days and fix it without someone losing a large amount of money. This wasn’t the first time their master went into an inconsolable fit of insanity and trashed the place. Last time, ten years ago, he nearly made it all the way to the end.

          Tonight they found him at the crossway, without his wig or his mask surrounded by broken mirror shards. Gangle sighed heavily when he spotted the near empty bottle of whisky. Erik was a lousy drunk, being a heavily traumatized abuse survivor, which is why he never touched the stuff and only in small quantities.

          “Go away!” He shouted at them, stumbling to get away, the bad half of his face glaring them down. In the dim light Gangle could see the wetness on his cheeks from tears recently shed. His deformity was not that bad considering his fellow freaks had it worst and after a cursory glance no one in the company looked twice compared to scale skin or elongated fingers or in his case alabaster skin that blistered in the sun.

          “Come now master, enough.” Fleck entreated picking her way through the glass. “You have to get up and get away from the glass. It’s sharp and it could hurt you.”

           He chuckled, a dark and hollow sound before reaching out to grasp a sharp long jagged piece. Gangle had enough, it was time to cut this shit off at the pass.

         “What would your prima donna think to see you this way?” Gangle softly asked moving to join Fleck but no further. Erik needed space and rational. He needed to have the control in his hands. He could make it to them if he wished.

        “My Christine is right, I’m a hateful beast. I said such awful words to make her leave. I keep hearing them in my head! I have to cut them out, make it stop!” He raged, eyes welling up with fresh tears. Fleck looked near ready to join him. Gangle regarded his master’s depression with sympathy but he would not give in to his misery. Pity had no place here, Erik needed cold hard reasoning before he did something drastic.

        “Why on earth would you make her leave Coney? You love her.” Marcus pointed out calmly. Gangle silently thanked him. He might have a heavy touch but when it came down to his core he was a right softie and his words weren’t accusations.

        “Oh course I do.” Erik responded passionately. “I never stopped. Not one moment. Not when she married that fucking play boy and bore him a child. I still loved her just as deeply. I even came to love her son.”

        Gangle could build on this. “Master, if I may, how old is Gustave?”

        Erik’s tapped the serrated glass in his palm as he thought out the question which was usually easy. Everyone held their breath that he did not nick an important artery by drunken mistake.

        “Eight or nine.” Erik offered looking bewildered.

        “Try ten.” Marcus supplied and now they waited. Everyone in the park had seen their master’s gray gaze one time or another. Everyone in the damned park knew Gustave and _everyone_ had put it together except the most important person.

       “What? Really? That’s funny,” their blitzed master remarked. Gangle was going to have to spell it out for him.

       “What is?” Gangle asked knowing the answer.

       “Ten years ago, the madam and I…had intimate relations. I was going to marry her, she’d be my wife. If Gustave was conceived after Christine married Raoul he would be nine not ten.” Erik explained. “His birthday is next month, he should be nine.”

       “Oh boy.” Fleck rolled her eyes heavenward. “Master he is ten.”

        Suddenly Erik straightened, the piece of glass falling uselessly to the side. “He’s ten-years-old.”

        “Yes.” Gangle nodded. Marcus let out a gush of air as everyone relaxed.

        “My god. He’s ten!” Erik shrieked jumping to his feet and nearly toppling into the broken glass had Fleck and Gangle not rushed to his side. They were treated to a tight, impromptu, group hug by a joyous master. “He’s mine! How could I not see this? He composes, he takes things apart, and he’s so brilliant! My boy is a genius! My God our boy, our little boy is a genius!”

         Gangle couldn’t help but smile at the sheer pride in his master’s voice. Erik let them go sudden growing distraught again.

         “Oh God what have I done? My darling, my muse, I abandoned her with child no wonder she married as fast as she could. How could I turn from her so? How she must think me cruel and heatless.” Erik clutched his chest as if he was having a heart attack. Considering the emotional upheaval he just endured Gangle prayed he wasn’t. The white man was very interested in seeing how this played out.

         Squelch put Erik’s arm over his shoulders and held him up right as he slowly moved the taller man towards the entrance, out of the broken maze. “There, there sir it’s all right. We saved the tickets from the show. Madam Giry can-”

        “That damned harpy! Do not mention her name to my ears! This is just as much her fault as mine!” He bellowed trying to wiggle free in an effort to extract his revenge. Gangle patted him on the shoulder comfortingly.

         “And she will get her just desserts master.” He assured the raving man. And maybe Gangle, Fleck and Squlech would receive her salary when she got the boot. Giry bet on the wrong horse by trying to drive the madam and her lover apart. He held no love for the cold woman, respect certainly but not an ounce of warmth. She did not see Coney for what it was and instead she only saw profit margins. While Gangle could understand her business sense, his heart was in keeping Coney alive and well for the other outcasts not so lucky to live in its confines. It was a happy coincidence he happened to like Erik for the master he was. Hapless sort of fellow socially, mentally a wreck, but there was kindness buried under the upper crust dignity, manic genius, and engineering talent. One just had to endure a snide comment or two.

          He also intensely liked the idea that Erik, for all his twisted skin, knotted, malformed face, had landed the most gorgeous woman in France ten years ago and had her coming back for more. It gave him slight hope that he might find the same in Meg.

         “Good!” Erik declared suddenly as he dipped and rose wobbling out of his destroyed maze in a drunk haze. “I need a cab, someone get me a cab! My wife and child need me.”

          “Master you need to sober up. You’ve been hitting the bottle hard.” Fleck dangled the near empty bottle in front of him. He looked to argue before turning a little green in the face.

          “Squelch let’s get him to the pier for some fresh air.” Gangle suggested making sure they dragged him out before something disgusting happened. When Erik emerged the next day from the lair after spending almost the whole night clutching a bucket, he looked like death wormed over but radiantly happy all at once. The dark trio were there for him, they would always be there for the master. Even when he was out of his ever loving mind.

 

 

 

 

            Christine wore an expensive black mink coat with a sparkling brooch, the reporters were going crazy. They called her name several times, the flash from the light bulbs were blinding. She was forced to walk the red carpet alone. She insisted Raoul take Gustave the back way into the theater to avoid having his picture in the paper. Her red hem peeked out of the large coat and trailed after her as she climbed the stairs, straight under her name surrounded by lights. This was her moment, her triumphant return to the spotlight and she could feel none of it.

            Her heart was broken and bleeding. She went through the motions, shopping with Raoul, listening to him fight with their little boy over Coney. The more Raoul insisted they never go, the more distraught Gustave became. He did not see what his harsh words did the small child that loved the pier. She did her best to be the peacekeeper but her usual zeal for making peace was absent and their fight left them in a sour mood towards each other.

            Lunch was disappointing affair of wealthy friends of Raoul recounting their fun adventures the night before and talking amongst themselves pausing only briefly to tell her they would be at the show. There was no music, no angel and no one to talk too. She had returned to a life full of dull affairs, on after another, until they blended together. She never realized how small and isolated her world was.  

            Standing in the massive theater, with a large ornate balconies that had roses carved into the railing lovingly and gargoyles looming over her head she felt at home. Greek pillars and marble flooring almost reminded her of the Opera Populaire. The golden winding staircases covered in red velvet carpet for the grand opening rising up to the terrace and the box seats of the massive theater were welcoming her home. If this had been another time and place, she could almost swear Erik’s presence was haunting the damned place and her throat constricted.

            Her dressing room was filled to the brim with flowers, all sizes, shapes and color but there was no single, solitary rose with a black silk ribbon to be found. She check two times over just to be sure. He was sticking to his word not to come and it reopened the wound she carried silently. She shook her head, she had a job to do and heart ache or no she was going to be a professional about it. She donned her gorgeous satin white dress, her hair was up in a French twist, her make up simple but flawless. She would be everything he said she would. She would be perfection.

            The audience was hushed when she walked on stage and the orchestra began to swell. She spotted her husband and son, she graced them with a radiant smile before taking a breath and letting the music emerge from the orchestra. Putting aside her anguish she waited for her que, opened her mouth and let the world remember why she was adored.

            It came so easily, the nights spent in the presence of her angel, the countless hours fine tuning her instrument. It all paid off. She could feel it vibrating through her veins, pulsing over the audience, capturing them as she rose higher and higher for the first crescendo. The choir behind her could not drown her out. She was too powerful, too loud for them to wash over her voice. This was the music of the night and she shared it with the world.

            The next fifteen minutes were a blur of falling and rising until she was soaring, untouchable and intangible. When she finished she left Hammerstein’s piece a smashing success at her feet. The applause, the roaring of encores and bravos drowned out everything else. In a haze of gratitude she took her bows and exited towards her dressing room. The other acts and back stage staff swarmed to congratulate her and hand her more tokens of affection. She was gracious and kind before taking her leave.

            Once she closed the door on them she was alone and her success suddenly seemed empty. Sitting at the vanity she put her palms down on the cool white marble surface and addressed the mirror.

            “If you’re here, now would be the time to say something.” Her powerful voice had become choked up and hoarse. Her face momentarily crumbled and she put it in her hands. “Please.”

            Then the wall behind her clicked and she swung around to see it open.

            Erik emerged looking smart in a black double breasted black suit and his dark over coat. He held a rose with an awestruck look.

            “Darling you were exceptional. Do you hear that? They’re still calling your name. You deserve it. I’m so sorry my-”

            She was out of her chair and in his arms before he could finish. She kissed him like she would never get the chance again. He held her tightly falling against the wall, hiking her up to bring them closer. This was not the artful kisses Raoul gave her, these were devoid of technique and messy. They were also blazingly lewd, he devoured her and she gave herself into the sin most willingly. He pushed them up against her vanity.

            “I didn’t mean a word of it!” He swore yanking her head back to feast on her neck. She clung to him, forcing him there while he ripped open the back of her dress.

            Joy unlike she had known was coursing through her veins. Closer, she needed to feel his skin and give into the madness possessing them both. She ripped his over coat off before attacking his belt. He stepped back momentarily to yank the dress straight off her before shucking his jacket, his vest. His pants made a sound as they hit the ground. 

            “How could you say such things?” She asked brokenly before he answered her with another slip of his tongue. Driving them backwards, pushing their under clothes off in a hurry. For hurry they must the performance would only last so long.

            “To save you and me from this.” He brought her right palm to his face and kissed it lovingly before wrapping it around neck and filling the space between them. She reached for his mask and he stilled his frantic hands.

            “I will have all of you or nothing.” She announced, lips swollen from his kisses, body aching for the music they could make together. When he nodded, she gently pushed the mask off and the wig to reveal the monster inside. He became almost shy as she let them drop.

            She reached behind his head to angle it towards her face. “Promise me you’ll never do that again. I could not bear you cruelty.”

            He kissed her forehead. “I’ll swear to your God I meant none of it, I’ll beg the heavenly saints for forgiveness, and I’ll pay any penance you demand. I’ll do _anything_ to make it up to you. Please believe me I hate myself for what I said.”

            She kissed his bad side, he flinched but endured, she kissed his good side and then she kissed him deeply on the lips and he snapped back into action. Pulling her legs around his waist he treated her body like the music he composed. He did so instinctively, with mad passion and wild genius. He moved with her, against her, she was consumed and she struggled to keep her voice silent as they rose ever higher from illicit tryst.  

            He fell against the chair behind them, dragging her with him into his lap. He pushed his elbows under her knees to spread her. She let him, there was no shame between them. No need to hold back, he drove her to the grandest heights with an effort so seamless it made her toes curl. They reached their crescendo, their song was at its highest before growing silent. Panting he curled around her and covered in sweat she held him tenderly.

            “Come back to Coney.” He whispered across her collar bone.

            “Yes.” She agreed threading her fingers along his scarred scalp to caress him tenderly.

            “Bring our boy.” He instructed.

            She paused only briefly in surprise before smiling.

            “Yes.”

            He leaned back and smiled at her, her monster, her angel of music. How had they ever managed to be apart for so long?

            “There will be hell to pay.” She warned holding him tightly as if she shield them from the barrage of evil coming their way.

            He shrugged. “Former circus freak, I think I’ve seen the worst of it.”

            She still worried and he kissed her nose. He regarded her seriously. “I love you and we will figure it out.”

            She smiled, it was a wonder how she doubted him before.

            “I love you too Erik.”

            Then there was a knock on the door. Christine scrambled out of his lap as he pulled his trousers up, grabbed his clothes as she threw on a dressing gown.

            “One moment!” She called as they whirled around the dressing room collecting his things and stumbling to the open wall. They were almost in stitches from sheer joy.

            “We will be there, tonight.” She promised kicking her ruined dress under the table holding her flowers.

            “I’ll wait all night then.” He returned with a final kiss before she regretfully pushed him behind the wall and let it lock in place. Opening the door she found her benefactor and his partners carrying more flowers and praise. If they had any idea what went on seconds before they didn’t show it.    


	7. Chapter 7 The Truth Shall Set You Free

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One heart will be broken and one will turn deadly.

            "Meg, the master calls.” Gangle announced as she joined him off stage. The crowd was a little light tonight. Christine was debuting downtown and she lured business from the “Oh La La Girl”. Meg didn’t seem particularly troubled by this development. Wrapping a white shawl around her white, black spotted, dress she followed Gangle down the stairs towards the office part of Phantasma.

            “Did you like the show?” She asked smiling brightly.

            “Riveting as always.” He replied shooting her a salute.

            “I may not bring them to heaven like Christine can but I still reel’em in.”

            She had a lot to be proud about and he would gladly tell her. Instead he knocked on the door to the office before opening it.

            “Just so you know, my tastes run towards the earth bound and honey you can knock it out of the park.” He remarked giving her an appraising eye. She caught his drift but to his delight her smile did not falter. It increased before she turned away and Gangle shut the door from the inside. His friends were loitering behind the master as he sat across from Madam Giry and her sparkling daughter.

            “Why have you summoned us?” Giry asked plainly. Her mouth twisted down into a frown. She was usually busy arranging the next show and hardly had time for chit chat.

            “Madam we have known each other a good long time. I’ve always liked your incredible insights and stout observations.” Erik began.

            “Indeed.” Madam Giry waved for him to get on with it.

            “Then why didn’t you inform me that Gustave was my child not Raouls? Did you merely forget to mention this little detail or is my faith in your foresight misplaced?”

            There was a note of suppressed anger in his voice, a timbre of danger. Giry better answer carefully or she might find herself fleeing Coney. Squelch was smiling just a tad. Madam Giry’s face went white. Meg shifted uncomfortably.

            Finally the old woman chose to speak. “I have no idea-”

            “Mother that’s enough.” Meg cut her off as she looked imploringly at the master. “We could not tell for sure but I suspected as much.”

            “And sought to claim my fortune for your own.” He accused with malice, as if the idea disgusted him. “Because I had no one else but you.”

            “We are the ones that earned it!” Madam Giry shot back defending her outrageous actions.

            “As I have said, I paid you handsomely for all the service you provided me. I made Meg a star. What more could you possibly want?” He demanded rising to his feet as his rage grew.

            “A star?” Madam Giry scoffed. “Oh yes, Oh La La Girl. She deserves better than you ever gave her. She deserves an opera, she deserves all of Coney!” Madam Giry announced banging her cane on the ground with a bang that made the others flinch. But not the master he went deadly quiet. Gangle thought she was insane to make such demands.

            “Coney will go to Gangle for safe keeping and then my son when the time comes!” Erik shouted unleashing the fester anger from last night.

            Gangle’s eyes went wide, he had hoped that if Madam Giry retired he might have a crack at running the show. He never dreamt that he would stand as guardian to the park. It didn’t bother him that Gustave was destined to succeed him. The little boy was clearly as charitable as his father and understood the plight of the downcast and odd. Gangle also stood to gain quiet the salary from his positon before it was up. Fleck and Squelch stared opened mouth at him before they stifled their smiles of utter relief. When Madam Giry had great business sense, she was not one of their kind.  

            “How dare you!” Madam Giry raged getting to her feet. “After everything!”

            “Gustave is my son and I will not have you standing here overshadowing our reunion or plotting to swindle his inheritance from him.” Erik snarled.

            Meg got to her feet as well. “Gustave is coming here?”

            “And his mother. She’s leaving the viscount and returning to my side.” Erik announced coldly glaring at the both of them as if he dared them to contradict him.

            Madam Giry laughed darkly. “Of course she returns, the viscount is out of money.” 

            Meg whirled on her, her waist long hair swinging around her shoulders. “Mother enough please! Christine is not like that. Thank you master for all you have done for us but it’s time we part company. Anyone can be an Oh La La Girl, you’ll hardly miss me.”

            Erik regarded Meg fondly. “I think you will do very well on Broadway and you are always welcomed on Coney. Your mother however is not.”

            Madam Giry’s eyes bulged in shock. “How can you do this to us? Cast us out of our home?”

            “How can you stand there and tell me that Christine and Gustave are not family?” He returned. His voice made the Arctic Circle practically balmy. “Get out, gather your things and go before they arrive. I would like to avoid making them uncomfortable.”

            Madam Giry’s eyes narrowed into slits. “Uncomfortable. She will be a divorced woman living in sin with her lover and her bastard. She doesn’t know the meaning of the word but _she will_.”   

            Erik started to stalk towards her but Gangle held him in place. Giry wasn’t worth it. The master stilled and became calm.

            “I do believe we are finished here.” He announced and Fleck swung the door open. Madam Giry stalked out while Meg lingered near the threshold. Gangle approached her and put a hand on her back.

            “Go on honey, off to seek your fame and fortune.” He whispered in her ear as if he could see the bright lights of the theaters all the way out on Coney. They were shinning just for her. She turned to look at him over her shoulder glamorously.

            “Come and see a show sometime. You like the earthly delights sir? Have I got a show stopper for you.” She whispered giving him a lavish wink. He watched her walk off, slender legs, round curves and ample chest. There would be many Oh La La Girls but that one would remain special to him. He also made sure to send James to follow the elder Giry to make sure she left the island peacefully. He might be overtly fond of her daughter but he didn’t trust her one bit.

            “And now my friends let’s turn to better business. My wife and son will be arriving soon. I wish to give them a Coney welcome to remember.” Erik announced as Gangle swung the door shut.

 

 

           

 

            It was one thing to cling tightly to Erik, it was another altogether to let go of Raoul. She should have insisted he was there for it but this was her burden to carry alone. Gustave sensed the change in her when she joined them in the cab heading back to the hotel. Raoul prattled on without drawing breath about where they should go for a late dinner, who would be where to be seen with the great Christine Daae. Gustave reached for her hand and she squeezed it tight. It was for the both of them that she would endure.

            Entering the suite she turned her darling boy. “Gustave, gather a bag for tonight.”

            He nodded his head and removed himself from the foyer.

            “Christine what the devil are you doing?” Raoul asked. “Are we switching rooms for a bigger suite?”

            He poured himself a generous helping of rye. She gathered her courage, her words and let the past fall away.

            “Raoul, things have changed.” She started unable to phrase the words right. She might not be in love with him any longer but there was still love. He had raised Gustave with her, saw her through the darkest parts of her life. If Erik had not come back into her world she would be content to remain his wife. No matter how lonely it was. Erik promised her more than the music of the night, he promised a future that was so bright it was blinding and happiness no longer denied.

            She realized she had changed since she wed so young. Raoul’s boyish enthusiasm and lavish lifestyle had attracted her one time. Now she enjoyed Erik’s shrewd business instincts and common sense. He offered her security where Raoul only wished to chase the frivolous as he did leaving her alone at night with their son. Raoul would heal where Erik would remain devastated without her. He had been bereft for ten long years and she would not see him suffer another ten. Not just for his happiness but her own. She made her choice and now was the time to bring her destiny full circle.

            “What are you talking about?” Raoul demanded.

            “I’m leaving and I’m taking Gustave.” She said letting the chains that bound her fall away. He stilled and his eyes widened.

            “What the hell are you talking about?” He asked outraged, the flush in his face growing red from anger. “We’ve been married ten years!”

            “How many of those were happy?” She challenged. “We’ve been drifting apart for so long I hardly remember when there was a time I needed you. I do love you Raoul I just fell out of love. We can remain friends if you wish but I cannot be your wife anymore.”

            “You haven’t been yourself ever since we got here. Was that when you fell out of love with me and into someone else’s bed?” His jaw clenched in understanding.

            “I’m sorry to hurt you but I couldn’t help myself.” She admitted feeling shame of how she wronged him creep up her spine. She had to be strong it was almost over now.

            “Hurt me? What about Gustave! You’ve torn our family apart! You want to go be with your lover madam, have at it! But the boy stays here!” Raoul roared and that was it. She didn’t have to stand in this room, take his biting words and fight for her marriage. It was over, what he thought of her no longer mattered.

            “Raoul, I’m sorry but Gustave is not yours. He was never yours to being with.” She admitted the secret and watched him flinched. “You were part of his life for ten years and I won’t begrudge you contact with the boy you thought was your son. I am sorry but you can’t keep him.”

            Gustave chose that moment to enter the room, he took her hand and she led him out the door as quickly as she could. She gently pulled it shut before racing to the elevator. Raoul’s devastation would only hold out for so long. She might like his good nature but she had taken a sword and stabbed him deep, a person could only bear so much. She pushed the round button several times as Gustave followed looking anxious and confused.

            She watched, praying the doors parted soon.  

            The door to her former hotel suite slammed open as the doors parted on the elevator. She rushed in and pressed the lobby button praying the doors closed. Fear thick and heavy around her.

            “You can’t just walk off like that Christine! I swear I’ll find a way to strike at you for the hateful thing you’ve done! You selfish bitch! The boy is mine! He’s _mine_!” The doors closed as Christine pulled Gustave towards her shaking. In her hurry to be done with the whole nasty business of leaving her marriage she over estimated his reaction. She wasn’t foolish enough to believe he’d take the news in good humor but she never imagined he would be so hateful. In the morning he would be better, when the reality sank in and he saw opportunity. He didn’t have to come home anymore from his grand adventures, there was no one waiting there.

            “Mother, what’s going on?” Gustave fretted.

            “We’re going to Coney.” She replied deciding on what to tell him. She had tossed his paternity into question, it was best to get the truth out.

            “Gustave, the story about the opera ghost, about the singer, you know how it ends.” She commented gently crouching down to his level.

            “They run off and live happily ever after.” He replied.

            “No my dear they did not.” She admitted. “They had a little boy, the opera ghost burned with the theater and his singer married someone else.”

            Gustave gave her a confused looked before he nodded his head wisely. “You’re the opera singer.”

            “And Mr. Y is the ghost.” She returned as the doors opened.

            She took his suitcase and his hand.

            “Does that make me the little boy?” He inquired looking hopeful but scared.

            “Yes my love, you are. Does that frighten you?” She asked. She knew Erik was happy for his company but she didn’t know the extent of their friendship.

            “No but what about father? I mean the viscount.” He returned.

            “You can still see him any time you wish. He was your father for ten years. I know this is all so confusing.” Christine commented as they hailed a cab. They climbed in and Christine breathed a deep sigh of release. She was feeling better already.

            “And…Mr. Y…father…does he know?” Gustave questioned. Christine laid his head on her shoulder and wrapped an tight arm around his shoulders.

            “He does.” She confirmed.

            “And how does he feel about it?” Gustave asked as they pulled up to the Coney sign. A thousand lights littered the boardwalk, coming from delicate glass flowers. Sound from an orchestra near the carousal filled the air with gorgeous music. The employees, Erik’s band of circus family, were out in force mingling around the shops in their absolute best suits and dresses. They stopped talking when the carriage arrived and turned to greet the heir apparent with applause.

            “I do believe he is positively overjoyed.” Christine remarked smiling broadly as Erik emerged from the crowd. He was dressed in the suit from the performance, his smile board and welcoming as it ever was. He opened the door, kissed her hand and reach out for his son. Gustave didn’t hesitate as he took the offered palm and grasped it tightly before Erik swung him down from the carriage.

            Fleck appeared summersaulting towards them, Gangle followed her dancing to the music as he presented the adults with flutes of champagne.

            “Welcome one and all to our Monster’s Ball!” Gangle announced loudly as Squelch approached with a pistol for Erik to hold. Her future husband wrapped an arm around her waist and passed the gun to Gustave to which she gave a start.

            “Not a real weapon my dear.” He muttered under his breath before turning to their son. “Do you see that light bulb right there?”

            Gustave nodded his head eagerly.

            “Aim and shoot.” Erik instructed as Gustave raised the toy and Erik subtly adjusted his aim. With a crack, a firecracker shot across the night and hit the lightbulb. It exploded in a shower of golden sparks before a row of lights across the electric wires followed suit lighting up the night, making stars fall from the heavens as they created a path all the way back to Phantasma. In a boom, more bright lights flew off the pier into the night to explode loudly over their heads. Cheers went up, applause followed and Christine hadn’t thought about Raoul at all. She thought about how Gustave launched into a series of questions about the chemical compounds of Erik’s show and how Erik put a proud hand on his shoulder while he reached back to grasp her fingers.

            This is how it should have been from the start and yet they still have time, it was never too late. The idea comforted her and she let Raoul’s threat fall to the far reaches of her mind. She was safe on Coney and so was her son.      

 

 

 

             Raoul was three drinks deep at the bar in the hotel after the show. Christine had left.

             Where had he gone wrong? He was always faithful, he was handsome, and he knew how to entertain the hell out of people. Their married life was satisfactory. What did he do to lose her? He wearily admitted they had drifted in the last few years. He didn’t even think of the boy he thought was his.

             Someone tapped him on the shoulder and he turned to see Madam Giry of all people regarding him with a contemptuous stare.

             “Madam Giry! What the devil are you doing here?” He asked blurrily. She sat down and poured herself a drink from his bottle.

             “Wondering why you aren’t spiriting Christine and your son back to France.” Giry returned. She had that tinge in her voice that reminded him of Paris. Of her standing in the office of her employers and knowing every little thing that was going on. Holding paper letters in her hand with his seal. He shivered at the specter of his dead rival, the man who would have gleefully trapped Christine in a dark dungeon and thrown away the key.

             Sometimes he woke feeling the coarse rope around his neck.

            “How do you know they’re gone?” He wondered, a sinking feeling starting to form in the pit of his stomach.

            She regarded him and started to laugh evilly. “You have no idea who it is, do you?”

            “Who?” He demanded very confused and the alcohol was not helping his already bad temper. “Speak plainly woman.”

            “The man your wife left you for, my dear viscount—is _him_.” She finished slapping the dark wooden bar with a flourish.

              Raoul went ice cold. “He’s dead. He was burned alive ten years ago.”

             “No, he’s been living on Coney for ten years. Meg and I smuggled him out of France and brought him here. Ten years, just the age of your boy, now that’s a coincidence.” Madam Giry chuckled as she drank deeply from her crystal glass. “Nice vintage. May I have another?”

             He always knew deep down that Gustave was strange. Taking things apart, uninterested in normal play with normal children. Obviously the monster raped her and in shame she bore his son. It made perfect sense that she used him to hide the kid. Raoul rounded on her. “Are you saying my wife is at the mercy of that monster again?”

             This explained everything. Her sudden and abrupt departure, Gustave’s quiet acceptance. Was she under his spell? Was Gustave? No the ghost would never hurt his offspring, Christine was the only innocent one in all this. Were they working together to sway her?

            “You mention he was tutoring her.” Raoul was having a hard time thinking straight. The alcohol was blurring the lines of morality. If Christine was in danger, it was his God given duty to save her. They could start over in France and try for another child, one that was pure Chagny.

            “Yes, she was in need of his instruction once more. You remember how powerful his voice was. I wonder…” Madam Giry paused theatrically.

            “Wonder what?” Raoul pressed. In the haze of alcohol he wasn’t as sharp as he usually was. If he had been sober he would see the manipulation for what it was. But he wasn’t so he let her give him the reason he was searching for.  

            “If she is under his spell again. He could always sway her mind with a little singing and they were making beautiful music this week.” Giry finished innocently. Her meaning was a double entendre he knew it. The thought of his loving wife manipulated into a sexual deviancy with that _thing_ made his stomach clench painfully.

            “My poor wife. I must save her.” He declared as if he was ten years younger and able to fight a monster more powerful and cunning then him. He was always over his head and yet he would run off full of righteous fury to save the damsel in distress.

            “Patience my dear viscount. Now is not the time.” Madam Giry said patting his hand. “We must plan, we must prepare and then we will strike.”

            Raoul nodded his head. “What will we do?”

            “Leave that to me and follow my plan to the letter. I’ll arrange everything, just have two tickets to France ready to go a week from today.” Giry remarked.

            “Why are you helping me?” He inquired. She was always his agent not Raouls.

            “Because I’m old, I’m tired, and I want what’s mine.” She replied her voice was tight with anger.

            The answer was good enough for him.

 

 

 

 

            Christine returned in the afternoon as Erik saw the second last batch of employees off. Their accounts fat with a surprise yearend bonus, compliments of their master and his mistress. Erik didn’t think life could get any better. The divorce papers were delivered and two days after the Year End Ball Christine was returning with Squelch to the hotel to gather her things. Erik was going over the repair of the mirror maze.

            “What happened father?” Gustave asked watching the repair crew cart out several broken and destroyed mirrors from his funhouse. The word father still warmed his heart. Gustave did miss Raoul, it was expected, but he did not shun his true father and it was more than Erik thought he deserved for abandoning mother and child so long ago.

            “A mad man got loose in the maze.” Erik replied so easily Gangle gave a start. “He’s gone now.”

            Gustave turned back to see the sea of broken shards being swept out of the maze onto a trap for disposal.

            “I do hope he received help.” Gustave remarked sadly.

            Fleck’s chuckle took Erik’s attention off the boy and he glared her silent. She tossed him a wicked smile. “No need to worry princeling he’s getting loads of _help_ these days.”

            The innuendo wasn’t wasted on him and he tapped her leg with his foot gently while clearing his throat. Such things were private thank you very much.

            He had been indiscreet with his married soprano but he didn’t really care what God thought or the church. The papers hadn’t caught wind yet and when they did he intended to be far away to shield his family from the worst of it. Let them gossip, let them sneer and when Erik returned in the spring they would have a whole new set of bullshit to talk about. He had Gustave and Christine, he had everything.

            It never failed to humble him that she let him in between her milky thighs, the passionate bouts were contained to the office for privacy. Due to Coney closing, Gustave slept with his mother in their bed while he exiled himself to the lounge chair to preserve their dignity. For if he was in close proximity he would certainly take liberties. It was all her fault for being so damned insatiable. He had needs but it turned out hers were ferocious and not once but twice since his little family came together he ended up taking her across his desk because he couldn’t help himself. These days the sound of the office lock clicking in place made his heart start to hammer.

            “No matter, your mother returns. Let us help her with the luggage, shall we?” He turned and knew that Gustave was following. He was his shadow, father and son were thick as thieves. The small fights they had were over bed times and proper use of the lab Erik had set up down the beach. It caught fire two times now when he was busy with Christine and Gustave had given Squelch the slip.  

            When he got close enough his smile slipped at the tears in Christine’s brown eyes. The luggage Squelch and Marcus carried was small and there was only enough for a child.

            Christine went right into his arms and buried her head. He held her as Gustave joined them.

            “Mother were are your things?” He asked inspecting the back of the carriage as if they had hidden them from view.

            “Gone my sweet.” She muttered face still buried in his jacket.

            “Gustave, show Marcus where he can put your things.” Erik requested and the little boy nodded his head before Marcus swung him onto a rather large piece of luggage. He picked it up and started forward making Gustave laugh at the impromptu ride. Squelch tossed a rather loaded look at his master as if to warn him to tread lightly.

            Christine finally leaned back so he could see the misery in her face. “Raoul shredded my dresses, threw out my jewels. He said the most awful things.”

            Erik should have gone with her. The need to grab some rope and make a noose was making his fingers itch. The viscount was showing his true colors and all Erik could see was red.

            He started to seethe. “How dare he lay hands on your personal property-”

            “He’s hurting.” Christine gently interjected.

            “That’s no excuse.” Erik pointed out still in a right fury over it.

            “And the mirror maze was what? Just a tantrum?” Christine asked, Erik shrugged uneasily. He had told her the truth because he would never lie to her. “My love we have each other, Raoul has no one. I do not blame him nor do I wish to engage him over petty things easily replaced.”

            He could work with that but the moment she said otherwise he was going to chase the little shit right out of town. Kissing her forehead he put a protective arm around her sagged shoulders. She was warm and beautiful, even in her misery.

            “I cannot bear to see you so distraught. Come, let me make a few phone calls and we can send you into town for new clothes.” He proposed. She graced him with a stunning smile and he felt the wrath at her former husband lesson. She was happy, he did not care about the pathetic excuse of a man who wounded her so.    

 

 

 

 

            “Gangle I think I’m done with the mirror maze.” Erik was standing at his desk with plans spread out in front of him. Christine was beside him. After Madam Giry was disposed of, Gangle had stepped out of the limelight to take on some of her duties. The rest went to Christine. It turned out the future Madam Y knew how to run back stage responsibilities and what she couldn’t understand she turned to Gangle who was more than willing to help. Erik had increased his salary with the promise for more in the spring if he resumed his management duties. He came only second to the madam and that was fine by him.

            “And what should we replace it with?” He asked.

            “I was hoping you would have a suggestion.” Erik responded putting a hand on Christine’s back. She smiled at the white man across the table. He had told her an idea not long ago and she was giving him a chance to present it. He was touched really.

            “I want to winterize Coney.” Gangle said and then he laid out the idea for the master to reject or run with. Erik listened intensely, nodding his head or offering suggestions. By the end of the meeting he was on board.

            “We will break ground in the spring. Move the remaining mirrors to the front of the park for people to play with.” Erik announced and Christine took his hand. He caught her eye and tangled their fingers. Gangle knew immediately that the meeting was over.

            “I’ll take my leave.” The white man announced. He felt he could smash cymbals in the room and those two wouldn’t noticed. Closing the door he made sure to lock it before he pulled it shut.

            “At it again?” Fleck announced when he joined her on the board walk. Since all the acts were nearly gone, the rides shut down, the shops boarded up, no one came to Coney. Just a few people enjoying the last remains of summer. Fleck was having a smoke before she was off to pack her things. He had his own trunk to fill, the train was pulling out in four days, he wasn’t in a hurry. He would catch up with Fleck in Chicago in three weeks after a lone stint on the railways with a traveling magician. Squelch had landed them a nice gig for the coming months with a circus until Coney was open again. They would be clowns but it kept a roof over their head and bellies full.

            “You better believe it. At this rate she’ll be popping out a whole litter of little geniuses.” Gangle teased his smile falling when he caught sight of a beautiful blond bombshell sitting on the carousal.

            Gangle straightened his rag tag suit. “Is that-”

            “I have packing to do. See you tonight for the send off supper.” Fleck remarked waltzing off. Gangle picked himself up and approached the vision of loveliness.

            “And what brings you here honey?” He asked as Meg graced him with a smile.

            “More shopping with Christine and this!” She reached into her purse and produced front row tickets for tomorrow night. “You did promise to come see a show. I’m only in it for half an hour before the villain kills me but it’s got promise.”

            “Then I’ll see it gladly.” He returned taking the tickets as if they were gold and kissing the back of her hand. He had seen Erik, the socially challenged man, seduce the shit out of his paramour. He damned well picked up a few tricks.  

 

 

 

            Christine hummed as she put the rest of her clothes away. The pipe organ was covered for the winter, the sheets stripped from the four posted bed, the mattress placed in dry storage. The large fireplace had been emptied and cleaned, even the lounge chair was covered with a sheet. Coney was now officially closed, Gangle would be the last to leave. Fleck had hugged her and wished her well before she left. Squelch had kissed her hand and promised to send Gustave post cards from his travels. She had watched them go and couldn’t wait to awake Coney next year when the park reopened. Without their employees and friends, Coney was empty. The cold weather was rolling in and with it the last of the people who enjoyed the beach had left. 

            They were leaving tonight and Erik had made arrangements on his estate up the coast to welcome all of them. Gustave was busy ransacking Phantasma to find a wrench his father lent him and needed back. Christine knew he was going to gift their son with a full toolbox of his own for Christmas. It was a better gift then the chemical set he was considering. She would be hard pressed to stay his hand and stop him from spoiling Gustave rotten. He could not deny the little boy anything, just as he could not deny her. Going up the stairs she pulled on her fur coat, stepped out of the warm room to stand at the pier outside the office.

            She was so damned happy. She didn’t float through life trying to get her son and his father to make peace, entertain his snobbish friends or live the bored life of viscount’s wife. Her life had meaning, Erik was her partner and friend. He didn’t shove her into the box of wife or demand she stay there. She learned a lot over the last few weeks about Madam Giry and her duties. Gangle helped her and she found an ally in him. Together they managed to keep Coney running peacefully until the end. Erik, when he wasn’t hiking her skirts up or knee deep in year end closing duties, was acting as her manager. She was booked solid with several good shows after the winter break. Between singing, her resurrected career and Coney she would have plenty to do.

           She did not lack companionship outside her treasured relationship with her opera ghost. Meg did not take her dismissal from Coney hard and the two found friendship again. Christine and Gangle went to her show and although she did die a half hour in she was the scene stealer every time she was on stage. Christine was happy for her. The lady even found common ground with Fleck of all people during her time back stage. It was refreshing to be around people who didn’t wear their judgement on their sleeves.

          Gustave was so busy she only saw him at mealtimes and to tuck him in at night. He was more than happy to run off and investigate every nook and cranny of Coney Island. He always regaled her of stories of what he saw that day, what secret he found. She made a mental note to keep track should he ever run off in a temper and hide from her. Somehow all three had fallen into a seamless routine, as if they were always together and not apart.

          Raoul hadn’t said anything to the press yet but her absence was starting to garner interest. Her lawyer was keeping track of the divorce and assured her that the papers would be signed soon. Erik didn’t push but she knew his impatience. Coney was one world where they could openly be together and not suffer thoughtless words but outside the pier there would be trouble. He was worried what effect this might have on her.

          “Christine? Darling are in you here?” Erik called from behind the door. She turned around and peeked her head in.

          “Out here!” She smiled as he turned and joined her at the door.

           She kissed his cheek. Kisses on the lips always led to her being dragged into the office, most willingly, but she needed to finish her packing. She also needed to double check she had everything for the coming months.

           “I have exciting news. Hammerstein has sent a letter.” Erik pulled it out of his vest and handed it to her as he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her closer. “I wonder how much he’ll beg for another divine performance?”

           He nipped her ear and she leaned into his shoulder as she popped open the red seal. Her brown eyes scanned the contents. There was several lines of empty flattery before she got to the meat of it. “It’s an invitation to tea today.”

          He must have heard the note of disappointment in her voice for he asked. “You do not want to go?”

          “Of course but we’re leaving soon.” She replied. The earnings from Hammerstein could be put into Coney for another exciting attraction. Erik’s genius would see them succeed but the mirror house needed to become the start of the winter attractions and he needed money to bank roll the new frosty plans. This was her home as much as it was his. She wanted to see it rise in fortune.

          “No need to worry, go for lunch with the man, take Gustave and return when you’re done. I need to finish up some paper work and my little ingénue must stop distracting me.” He remarked gray eyes sliding along her mouth to her collar bone. She felt it as a phantom caress. Raoul had been a satisfactory lover but Erik took her body to a whole new level and now that they were together at last her appetite was rather embarrassingly large. She knew she could conceive again and she did not mind, neither did he by the way he indulged her.

         “Then I should phone Hammerstein’s office immediately.” Christine said as she left his side, he kept a light grip on her hand until her arm could stretch no longer. When she let go she tossed him a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If Madam Giry can't have it all why should Christine?
> 
> Thanks for the Kudos :) They make my day.


	8. Chapter 8 Pass the Point of No Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christine is dealing with a mad man again. And a pretty messed up Elder Giry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a lot of fun writing his part. In fact I think the whole fic took two weeks or something to bang out. When inspiration strikes it can really take over your time. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy.

           Christine had left a message with Hammerstein’s office and took her chances trying to meet him for lunch. Gustave was unhappy to be dragged off Coney but the promise of lunch cheered him. They made their way to Windsor Hotel and the host allowed them to sit while they waited for the rest of their party. If Hammerstein missed this appointment Christine would correspond with him to work out the details.

            While they waited they lunched and discussed the three hour journey tonight. She didn’t hear the footsteps approaching them.

            “Christine it’s good to see you.”

            She stilled and looked up at Raoul flanked by two burly men. Immediately a shiver of fear raced down her spine. She should have seen if Gangle was free to accompany her. She should have checked to see if Raoul was gone from New York with the rest of the party they came with. She reminded herself that this was Raoul, he wouldn’t hurt her or her child.

            “Viscount de Chagny,” Gustave smiled and waved from beside her. Christine put an arm around him and smiled nicely.

            “Raoul, it’s good to see you.” She supplied to fill the awkward silence.

            “It doesn’t sound like it. Aren’t you going to ask us to sit?” Raoul mentioned taking a seat before she gave her consent. The men behind him remained standing much to her unease.

            “I’m waiting for Mr. Hammerstein.” Christine remarked trying to regain her footing in this conversation. Her mood shifted from confused to weary. Gustave picked up on it and they exchanged anxious looks.

            “I am Mr. Hammerstein.” Raoul inclined his head and understanding dawned.

            In a panic she grabbed the plate holding her salad and tossed it at the closest goon screaming. “ _Run Gustave!_ ”

            The little boy didn’t need any other encouragement. He slid out of the booth, under the table and ran for it as fast as his legs could carry him.

            “Let him go!” Raoul commanded as one of the large men turned to race after him. Christine surged to her feet to run off in the other direction before a thick arm wrapped around her middle. She didn’t care if she made a scene she started to thrash and slam her fists into the arm holding her in place. When the other man grabbed her legs she kicked like a woman possessed to land a blow in his stomach. He only grunted and increased his hold as they dragged her out of the restaurant.

            “Have no fear dear wife, we will get you the help you need.” Raoul consoled as if he were a long suffering husband to a crazy wife. She did herself no favors by fighting back. Harsh whispers rose as others stood up to offer assistance. Not to free her, oh no she proved to be a dangerous unhinged individual, but to pass assurances to Raoul that she would thank him. He soaked up the condolences like a professional and it made her fight all the harder. No matter what she did she could not escape the ironclad hold on her feet and waist. She just prayed Gustave made it home.

            They forced her into a carriage with her insane ex-husband.

            “It’s all right now darling.” He took her hands. “I know you’re not yourself.”

            She wrenched them away with a scandalized look. “Not myself? What of you and your actions Raoul? Stop this carriage immediately! I demand you let me out!”

            She tried to open the door only to have it locked from the outside. There was no window to break.

            “Christine, darling, it’s all right now.” Raoul soothed much to her ire.

            “What are you talking about? You’ve been around kidnapping before, you know what it looks like!” She accused starting to kick the door in the vain hope of breaking the lock. She had no idea where she was going or what he planned to do when they reached their destination.

            “I understand this is confusing,” he admitted nodding his head. She felt she was missing half the conversation.

            “There is nothing perplexing about this! I want to leave! Let me go!” She shouted pounding on the door with her fits until he caught them and held her to his chest by a hard grip that bruised.

            “You’re under his spell again.” Raoul commented and Christine went still.

            “Are you _insane_?” She shouted. Although considering the past history between all three of them this was a likely outcome. The solution was simple and she hoped once she cleared this up Raoul could see reason. “I choose to go back to him, I made the choice. There is no spell to break, no damsel to rescue.”

            He spun her around to face him. She was well acquainted with madness and what she saw was ever so familiar. “You’re only saying that because he forces you too.”

            She exhaled loudly before calming herself and addressed him. “I love him Raoul. Truly I am happy. Please don’t do this.”

            His expression clouded over. “Madam Giry said you would say that but once we’re back in France his power will break.”

            She rocked back. He completely believed this nonsense.

            “Giry? What has she to do with this? He’s not up to his old tricks! We’re happy, truly we are! Stop this! Don’t force me to go to France. I can’t lose him, not again.”

            Her face crumbled and tears welled up to slide down her cheeks. He patted her hand like some errant child.

            “Giry knows what he is and his power over you was never really broken. He can content himself with your son. Once we’re home we can hide you from him and get you the help you need. In time we can try again for another child, a pure Chagny.” He commented as if to comfort her. Christine regarded him with only horror in her face.

            “I will not try to save you when he comes for me. If you put me on a boat to France I will dance on _both_ your graves.” She threatened, her pity over his delusion spent. She only hoped Gustave could reach Coney before they arrived at the docks. If Raoul did kidnap her to France, he could make them disappear. The money Christine had made from Hammerstein could cover their tracks very well. She leaned into the far side of the carriage as it swayed every closer to her imprisonment, holding herself.

 

 

 

 

            “So let me get this on the straight and narrow. You’re Christine Daae’s son?” The officer asked. Gustave wiped the tears off his cheeks and nodded his head several times. After running out of the Windsor he found a patrolling officer and managed to convenience him of his sincerity. What happened afterwards was more than appalling. They didn’t believe his mother had been kidnapped. They allowed him to make a very brief phone call to Coney where Gangle got the gist before someone announced his time was up and ended the call.

            “I am!” He announced proudly.

            “Then why aren’t you on the boat back to France with Christine and her husband?”

            Gustave went to open him mouth to explain his heritage, the whole crazy situation but what could he really say. That his mother had relations with his father before they were wed, lied to the Viscount de Chagny for ten years and that this drove his former father to act out in such a disgusting manner. As far as the public was concerned husband and wife were returning to France.

            God damn it he was frustrated and now crying.

            “I do believe you have my son.” A familiar voice said.

            Gustave’s heart stopped. His father could not step into the social scene without the murders from France haunting him. A man so bizarre would definitely attract attention. Whirling around he was shocked yet again by his father’s face.

            No bone white mask covered the left side and nose. He looked whole. Square jaw unblemished, black hair slicked back tucked under a black hat. His nose was curved and if Gustave had never laid eyes on him he would not be able to pick him out of the crowd. The skull cuff links were even in place. Gustave took a closer look, the make-up was impeccable, the wig line hidden and the prosthetic he wore wasn’t clay or wood. It flexed and moved with his mouth.

            “So he’s not the Madam de Chagny’s son?” The officer glared.

            “Why no. I do believe some of his school yard chums put him up to this. So sorry for wasting your time. I’ll pay any fine you charge us.” Erik said coolly, smiling indulgently.

            “You should beat him for lying.” The officer suggested with a hard look in his eyes.

            “Indeed, now if you’ll excuse us.” Erik took Gustave by the arm and made a show of dragging him out the door but his touch was gentle. “Poor excuse for a son, how dare you waste such valuable resources! It’s that Raoul boy isn’t it? Such a terrible influence.”

            Gustave was about to play along when he saw, to his horror the left side of his father’s face start to melt. Under the harsh heat of the lights it was reverting back to its natural state. Gustave switched Erik’s grip to his hand and squeezed tightly in warning, Erik pulled his hat down further across his bad side. They were five feet from the door, the other officers hadn’t noticed. They could make it out.

            “Just one second sir!” The officer called as they both stilled.

 _Shit_.

            It was over _._ Gustave would never again get to sit in his father’s office and learn the ins and outs of a mechanical music box. He’d never sit with his father again. There wouldn’t be a Coney without him. His mother might even return to Raoul and after all her smiles, her singing, he couldn’t bear that. Yes Raoul was a good man, a good father, but he was not family anymore. Erik was and Gustave couldn’t lose him.

           “You’re the man who runs Coney right?” The officer asked standing up to approach. “Mind giving us some tickets for the new season?”

           Erik panicked before Gustave reached into his pocket and took out the vouchers he collected seven days ago. He had a bad habit of not emptying his pockets and thank God for that. With a back flip and a summer sault Gustave presented the tickets to the officer.

           “Come and see the mermaid pool for free!” He said before returning to Erik’s side.

          “Thank you!” The officer called as they pushed the doors apart to find Gangle holding the carriage door open. Erik jumped in holding his face as Gustave followed with Gangle. The white man hugged him tightly and messed his hair.

          Breathing deeply, Erik ripped off the heated rubber bits hiding his face as the carriage took off around the corner. The wig followed suit as Gangle drew the drapes.

          “God that was close. Any longer and it would return to jell.” Erik commented tossing the rubbery pieces of flesh on the floor with disgust. For the first time Gustave got a good look at his father’s face. He was grotesque. There was no nose, the flesh had peeled back in strips to reveal muscle tissue and bone, he didn’t have an eyebrow and his hair was thin and white. He caught Gustave’s eye and hurried to put on his mask.

         “It’s not pleasant to look upon.” Erik remarked nervously as he retrieved his wig to properly place it.

         “It’s not the worst either.” Gustave responded putting his hand on his fathers in reassurance.

         “You are kind, like your mother.” Erik returned clearing off the rest of the make-up. When his mask was in place he seemed to resume his usual confidence.

         “Mother?” Gustave asked worriedly.

         “We found the boat to France but I can’t pin point her location. We have little time to make it before they board. Raoul is surely leaving under an assumed name, the ships passenger list is useless.” Erik rumbled angrily. “I should have seen through this! How can I be so blind?”

          “Is punishing yourself going to get her back?” Gangle asked bitingly.

          “No.” Erik admitted dryly.

          “Then I suggest you do what you do best and _fucking think of a solution_!” Gangle urged and Erik slapped him on the shoulder pointing at Gustave.

          “Watch your mouth in front of my son.” Erik warned glaring. It was odd to hear another man other than the viscount say it but it was fitting.

          “If mother is leaving tonight with Raoul they must be at the loading dock by now. We can follow mother to her cabin and break her out.” Gustave theorized.

          “That leaves us with no time to get off the ship undetected before they cast off. We’ll be trapped and everyone will give a bright welcome when we pull into France. The authorities especially.” Erik wringed his hands. “He’s not smart enough for this! How did he pull it off?”

           Good question, the three of them sat in silence.

           “Madam Giry.” Gangle supplied looking immensely angry. Erik’s head wiped around to face him.

           “Surely not…no. That’s impossible.” Erik dismissed.

           “Who’s Madam Giry? Is she related to Meg?” Gustave asked confused.

           “She was let go from Coney family over you and Christine.” Gangle informed him much to his shock. “She hates the both of you.”

           “She would never.” Erik hissed crossing his arms.

           “She has nothing to lose.” Gangle pointed out as the masked man’s face fell and realization hit him across the face like blunt force trauma.

           “That horrid…. _person_.” Erik snarled, it looked to Gustave he was fighting back a slew of expletives. Gangle nodded his head in agreement.

           “So now what do we do now?” Gustave was nearly in tears again. He wanted his mommy, he wanted to go back to Coney, he didn’t want to watch his father suffer.

           Erik pulled him silently to his side before his eyes lit up. “How many people do we still have in New York that worked Coney?”

          Gangle shrugged. “I’d say a good twelve, maybe thirteen. Why?”

          Erik’s eyes were gray slits of cracking energy. “Because I have a wonderful idea. I’m going to give the viscount a sendoff to remember.”

 

 

 

            “You should not have come back to Coney.”

            Christine turned to see Madam Giry and her cane approach her from behind the stopped carriage. The goons were on either side ready to manhandle her into line. Understanding hit her and she turned her head against the thought.

            “You did this.” She seethed. “Why?”

            “Because without you Meg would have everything. I spent years, precious time, building Coney with our master only for you to show up and take it all away.” Madam Giry accused, face impassive as if Christine was just an irritating pest ready to be swat away with the back of her hand. “It’s time for you to lose something _madamousielle_.”

            Christine surged forward to knock her smug expression off her face but the larger goon grabbed her wrists before locking them behind her back.

            Madam Giry turned away to address Raoul. “I trust you were discreet?”

            “We’re traveling under Mr. and Mrs. Walter Benny. Good thinking Madam Giry.” Raoul nodded his head. “But…”

            “But what?” Madam Giry demanded bored.

            “But shouldn’t she be improving?” Roaul asked uncertain. Christine felt hope swell in her chest.

            “After mere hours? Viscount you ask too much of her.” Madam Giry said putting an arm around his shoulders. “They have had several weeks together and his power must weaken before it’s broken.”

           “There is nothing to break!” Christine shouted drawing attention from several passing passengers. The goon twisted her wrist to keep her silence. Raoul could not see her mistreatment, his back was to her.

           “Rest assured by three days from now she’ll start to see reason.” Madam Giry coaxed with a smile. “Don’t you want her to get better? Don’t you want your marriage back to the way it was?”

           “And you Madam Giry where will you go?” Raoul asked. Madam Giry had a traveling coat and luggage with her.

           “To Europe. Without Christine no doubt Erik will turn to Meg for comfort. She’ll receive Coney one way or the other.” Giry shrugged nonchalant. The woman was insane. Erik had no feelings for Meg, certainly not the romantic nature. He might had a general fondness he reserved for all the employees of the park but that was the extent of it. And Meg had no designs on Erik. Christine had fallen into Wonderland where up was down and left was right. For a moment she almost pitied Giry for her crazy ideas and then she remembered that Erik would not find her logged into the ships passenger list due to Giry’s cunning idea.

           “You two have it all figured out.” She let her anger lace her words. “Raoul has it occurred to you that I might not improve? What then? Are we to return to France and live miserably for the rest of our lives?”

           Raoul regarded her with cold eyes. “I shall make sure accommodations at the asylum are fitting before remarrying. Enough Christine! I will not see you spit in the face of my kind gesture.”

            He meant for her to waste away in an insane asylum. The goons marched her forward her wrist aching, the world a long cold stretch of darkness unending. She had to do something, but what? Jump the gangplank and fall to her death. She looked at the water a hundred meters below the entrance to the ramp and knew if she did try that idea surely she would die. France would be no better.

            Suddenly she heard it, the rise of a beautiful music filling the air. The music of the night was wrapping its tender fingers around the dock and soon it would strike. Turning around with the rest of the passengers no longer walking up the gangplanks or loitering in the waiting area she saw the float emerge. A large boat with a full orchestra on three tires of the back played behind a golden throne. There sat a familiar figure draped in black. The stranger had a full white mask over his face with the golden cross imprinted on his forehead. His wide brim hat could not disguise his gray eyes. On his knee was a red dressed child with a gold crown attached to his mask. Below them were dancing, brightly colored people waltzed around the mast, paper fans in the air.

            Madam Giry’s face went white before she gathered her things and ran for it.

            Christine was suddenly transported in time, the costumes, the masks on their faces, the black suit. This was their masquerade, their paper faces on parade. This was how she could escape. Turning around she slammed her foot into her captures and when he grimaced in shock she ripped her hands free and ran for it. Her own voice ringing out in the crowd startling the people around them to skid apart giving her an escape route. She might be breathless from running, but she still sang weaving through the crowd not daring to glance behind her. The dancers jumped from the float to the ground, breaking apart to bring others to dance, turning the sendoff into a giant party.

              She finally burst through to find her fully covered angel of music there before her face. He took her hand gently before slipping an arm around her waist. He waltzed her into the mix, moving her around the cement effortlessly. He gently pushed her arms to the side, she felt fellow waltzing dancers dress her arms in black silk gloves, keeping in step with her Opera Ghost another wound a heavy warm cloak around her shoulders, and at last he swept a hand over her eyes. She felt adhesive stick a mask to her face. As the music of the night concealed them, she finally kissed his masked mouth as the music reached its climax. The lights around the dock surged brightly before exploding, dousing the dock in darkness.

               In the confusion, she heard the dancers scatter. Erik pulled her tight to his side, Gustave reached for her hand and she gripped it firmly. He led the family towards the corner, out of sight of the docks, away from the smell of the Ocean. Christine finally saw light at the end of the street where a carriage waited for them. Fleeing the family rushed the black carriage and in moments they were flying down the back ally’s and side streets making their escapes.

              Inside the handsome cab everyone shed their disguises as Erik pulled Christine in close with trembling hands and Gustave joined them hugging her middle. Her Opera Ghost draped an arm over his back.

             “That was close!” Gustave exclaimed joyfully.

             “You used the Coney opening float. What will we do next year to open the park?” Christine asked relieved to be among family. Everyone looked little worse for wear.

             Erik shrugged nonchalantly. “We have all winter to come up with a new idea. I’m sure between the three of us we will figure it out.”   

            Christine leaned into his shoulder, inhaling the clean aftershave he used. His genius had saved them from a lot of heart ache.

            “Mother you should have seen father. He made half a face out of rubber.” Gustave exclaimed excitedly.

            “What?” She asked turning to peer at him. With a sigh he lifted his white mask, she could see the redness and irritation to his scars. It must have hurt and she tenderly kissed his unaffected cheek in sympathy.

            “It was melting off in the police station.” Gustave continued.

            “Police station?” Christine remarked bewildered.

            “It’s a long story.” Erik commented.

            “We have three hours. Start at the beginning Gustave.” Christine urged and snuggled in her future husbands shoulder and absorbing his warmth. They would find out later Raoul returned to France, Madam Giry had vanished and life was infinitely safer without the two of them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ta DA!


	9. Chapter 9 Say You'll Share With Me One Life, One Lifetime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One year later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some people's happy ever after differs from others. We've come to the end. I hope I don't disappoint.

            Madam Giry had spent the year running a fine house. The master was a retired duke from England and his wife was well known in certain circles. They were hosting several important guests at the summer house in Long Island outside of New York. Giry should have stayed in England with the main manor but she was also a ladies maid. Every time the door opened to admit a new guest her blood froze. She thought for sure Erik would still be searching for her. Her revenge had fallen apart at the end. Leave it to that thick headed idiot to lose his wife in Erik’s mad scheme to get her back. Who the hell would have ever taken their eyes off her?

           She opened the door to find her daughter on the arm of a familiar face.

          “Mother you remember Gangle?” Meg asked smiling gently as was her way. She wore an expensive gown of blue satin, her hair up in curls. Gangle by contrast was grinning like the cat that ate the cream. He wore make up to normalize his usual pasty face. His white hair styled to the side in a modern haircut.

           “Indeed.” Madam Giry offered her hand and his face twisted in pleasure as he dragged her into a hug.

           “Oh come now Giry, no need to be so formal.” Gangle put his arms tightly around her back. “We are soon to be family after all.”

            Meg hoisted her hand to show off an expensive bauble smiling widely. “Mark has asked for my hand in marriage. We’re getting married in the spring before Coney opens.”

             Giry’s blood froze over with horror. “My dear that’s—congratulations.”

             Meg heard her name and quickly kissed her mother on the cheek with a promise to call upon her later. Gangle lingered before he said lowly.

            “You know mom, I think I’m going to like having a keen eye on you while you’re in New York.” Gangle sneered before washing his expression of any form of hostility and joining the crowd of young people oohing and ahhing at Meg’s engagement ring. The doorbell rang again and Giry opened it.

            “Madam Giry!” Raoul had an arm around a blond woman who looked confused at his sudden outburst. Raoul had grown a ridiculous mustache in the year he was gone. He apparently got over his ex-wife and had a brand new voluptuous one on his arm.

            “Viscount,” Giry inclined her head as they two swept in from the outside to shed their expensive coats.

            “You’re looking….well.” Raoul stumbled awkwardly. He meant to say _alive_. She could tell and with a deep breath she gestured to the kitchen.

            “Your hosts are waiting for you.” Giry intoned.

            “Thank you,” the new Madam de Chagny responded taking her husband’s arm and leading them away. Finally all the people were assembled for an impromptu concerto by the grand piano in the sitting room. Giry stood by the stairs to listen to the music. To remember grander times of old.

            Then she heard it, the rising voice of someone who she never hoped to meet. Despite the fact she was a servant she peeked around the corner and stood in shock.

            Erik was at the piano, his face whole and handsome. He wore a smart suit and the skull cuff links flashed in the candle light as he played. He serenaded his wife, a ravishing Christine who looked at him with utter adoration. She joined his song, their music filled the room and enraptured their audience. Giry went cold and spun around to flee, her feet slapping off the marble flooring racing for the closest exit, the front door. Gangle closed it stepping inside with a wide smile. She turned into the kitchen to find the back door similarly locked.

          She realized Christine was singing alone now.

          Whirling around she saw the flash of coarse rope, felt her air way tighten as her fuming phantom shoved her into the door. His eyes blazing gray against the darkness of the kitchen.

           “I will only say this once my dear old friend.” He hissed between clenched teeth. “I asked Gustave and his mother, my angel, what I should do with you. Do you know what they said?”

           She shook her head, her throat making the most horrible sound as it dragged in air through the constricted passage. He tightened the knot angrily.

           “They said I should forget about you and I shall. You did after all serve me faithfully all those years ago and deserve a measure of mercy.” He paused before yanking her close to his face. She could see his miraculous healed half up close. It was trick to be sure but a good one. “I give you this one damned chance to leave here with your life but if you ever cross me or mine again, I won’t hesitate. Are we clear?”

           He released her and she fled, Christine’s rising soprano chasing her out the door Gangle was kind enough to open and slammed shut as she crossed. The noose hanging loosely around her neck.

 

 

 

           Erik rejoined his wife for the end of the song, his baritone rising to blend their melody together seductively. Christine patted her well round belly affectionately as she held out her hand for him to take. The rubber on his face was starting to heat up, he would have to make his excuses soon but for now he joined her, in front of the audience, at her side where he should have been in the first place.

           He was still mad sometimes but Christine saw him though his worst bouts and Gustave was the light at the end of the tunnel. Coney would be the empire he would inherit with his sister Madeline after Erik returned to France in his later years when the children were grown and no longer needed him. When his beloved angel fell silent one night and her music gone from the world. Christine had been buried in her home town, as was her wish, and even in death they would never be far apart. He caught sight of the Viscount de Chagny one day in the far off distance placing a familiar music box upon her grave. Their song had ended, the music of the night gone but not forgotten and one day, sometime soon, Erik would soar with her once more.

           Until then he would wind up the monkey, let the music comfort the dead and wait the passage of time.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone who has read this. I truly enjoyed writing it. 
> 
> Cheers :)


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